


Three Steps Forward

by Mcguffan



Series: Where There was No Path [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 182,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mcguffan/pseuds/Mcguffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin reveals his magic.  Arthur does his best to cope.  Meanwhile, there are Saxons and Druids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> This story devotes a lot of attention to the relationship between Arthur and Merlin. It is possible to give it a slashy interpretation and it is possible no to.

Perched on the edge of a rickety chair, Merlin used a broom to stab sweeping arcs over the tops of the shelves in Gaius’s workroom. Dust, cobwebs and what were most likely rodent droppings came cascading down onto the floor – and onto Merlin. Scrunching his face against the debris Merlin swept as thoroughly as his precarious position allowed. 

Over the past several weeks, Arthur had been incredibly busy, which meant that Merlin had been just as busy chasing after his king—keeping trouble away from Arthur and Arthur away from trouble. Merlin didn’t mind the constant activity, though he liked to complain on the few occasions he thought he might get sympathy. The laws on magic needed a complete revision now that the Druids could live freely in Camelot again. Merlin was determined to be as helpful a part of that process as he could. That was a big part of his destiny after all.

Recently though- with the demands of destiny always pressing in upon him- Merlin feared he had been neglecting his mentor. He felt especially guilty because, though it had been a month since Arthur and Gwen’s wedding, Gaius still had not completely shaken off the effects of the time he had spent in the dungeon as Morgana’s prisoner. The old physician tired quickly and several batches of headache cure had had to be thrown out because Gaius had lost track of which ingredients he had already added. 

In time Gaius would need more help than Merlin would be able to reliably provide. It was inevitable but Merlin hated to think about it. Instead Merlin decided to do something nice for Gaius. So that morning, after Gaius went off on his rounds, Merlin took on the accumulated filth of the laboratory. He had even gone so far as to clean the leach tank- though the sorcerer had had to spend a horrifying ten minutes afterward with a mirror and a fire spell.

The sound of the door opening distracted Merlin and he nearly lost his balance. Dropping the broom and wind milling his arms, Merlin managed to right himself. He took a moment to steady himself before carefully dismounting from the chair. Merlin smiled in anticipation of his mentor’s surprised pleasure at seeing all the cleaning that had been going on but Gaius was oblivious to his surroundings.

“Are you all right?” Merlin demanded of the pale, dazed figure who had just entered.

“I—Ye—I think I should sit down.” Gaius replied blinking rapidly at Merlin.

Guiding the old man to a chair, Merlin relieved him of his medicine basket. Gaius had also been clutching a rolled parchment in his hand and Merlin took that too and set it aside before taking the physician’s cold hands in his own.

“What’s happened?”

Gaius swallowed and tried to collect himself. “I’d just finished my rounds, when Arthur asked if I would come in and see him a moment.”

“Is Arthur all right?” Merlin demanded feeling his stomach drop and his magic surge to life as always happened at the mere possibility of some harm befalling Arthur.

“Oh, yes. The king is fine.” Gaius reassured, a trace of humor entering his voice. “Merlin, could you get me one of those…” The old man gestured in the direction of the shelf where the restorative tonics were kept.

Hurriedly, Merlin brought back the desired vial and watched Gaius drink it down in two large swallows. When he put the bottle down, Gaius met Merlin’s concerned gaze. On the verge of an explanation, the physician stopped and seemed to really take in his surroundings. “Merlin, you have… something in your hair.”

Reaching up, Merlin ran his fingers through his unruly dark hair. “Oh, that would be dust and maybe some cobwebs. I’ve been cleaning.” Merlin explained as a gray cloud seemed to rise from his head in response to his combing fingers.

“The room looks wonderful.” Gaius responded, looking around. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Merlin smiled weakly. “So what did Arthur want?”

“Well…. Well I suppose you should see for yourself.” Gaius invited, gesturing to the parchment he had been holding before Merlin had taken it away.

Feeling uneasy, Merlin took the parchment and unrolled it. The first thing he took in was Arthur’s scrawled signature at the bottom of the page. Then he began to read.

“Gaius, this is a pardon.”

“Yes,” Gaius acknowledged. “Full and complete for all crimes magical or not.”

“What did he say?” ‘What does he know?’ Merlin had collapsed onto a stool as he read and now he deliberately put the parchment on the table to avoid accidentally crumpling it in a nervous grip.

“The king said that he knew Uther had demanded things be done that could not have been done except with magic. He said that he thought Uther had done the moral equivalent of commanding that magic be used and that I should not ever have to worry about being punished for doing what Uther had commanded even if those commands had been given obliquely.” 

Gaius took a deep breath. He had been shocked to his core by the pardon. He had always assumed that Arthur was completely oblivious to all the magic performed on Camelot’s behalf. But even had Arthur known magic was being performed, Gaius never would have expected Arthur to reason that Uther was the instigator. It was no less shocking for being somewhat accurate. Morgana’s illness had been the occasion where Uther had been most explicit that he wanted her to recover even if that meant magic but there had been dozens maybe hundreds of similar situations. 

A familiar wave of grief crashed in Gaius’s heart. Uther would have let him burn. He had proven that with the Witchfinder. Yet everything Gaius had ever done—at least everything shameful Gaius had ever done- had been for Uther. The fact that Uther’s son now sought to take responsibility for his father’s mistakes could lessen the heartache only a little.

“Then, he asked about you.” Gaius continued.

Merlin, who had been mulling what Gaius had just been saying suddenly jerked into full alertness. “What did you tell him?”

“What could I tell him?” Gaius answered, waving his hands to indicate helplessness.

“What **did** you tell him?” Merlin repeated near panic. This was happening too fast. Ten minutes ago he had been dueling dust bunnies, now his world teetered on the brink of collapse.

“I said that I could not have done everything I needed to do by myself.”

“He knows, then. Arthur knows.” Merlin felt his every muscle tighten as though he were bracing for a blow.

“Arthur believes you have been taught a spell or two to help me protect Camelot at Uther’s command.” Gaius clarified. “I told him that you should have a pardon, too.” 

Gaius had done more than that. He had insisted that anything Merlin might have done had been for Arthur, that Arthur’s safety had been his overriding concerns at all times and that anything Merlin may have done that might incur the King’s anger was completely Gaius’s fault and should not be held against the young man. Arthur had merely nodded at the physician’s protestations seeming to balance their obvious sincerity with the conspicuous reliance on hypotheticals.

“Arthur seemed certain, though, that whatever magic you had performed would fall within the terms of the amnesty.” Gaius continued. 

An amnesty had been proclaimed for anyone who had used magic during the ban provided that the use of the magic would have broken no other law. The terms of the amnesty would not begin to cover Merlin but Gaius could not have admitted that.

“So Arthur knows the truth, that I can do magic but he doesn’t hate me?” Merlin asked, large blue eyes begging Gaius to tell him everything was going to be fine but even as he spoke Merlin recognized the obfuscation in his own question. Arthur did know he could do magic but he didn’t know the truth.

“You won’t have a better chance to tell Arthur everything.” Gaius admonished, guessing Merlin’s thoughts.

“But this could be all right, Gaius.” Merlin coaxed. “He knows I can do magic. Now that it is no longer banned, I can just tell him that I’m a natural and am learning very fast. It will be like a fresh start. I can fulfill my destiny. I can use my magic to serve and protect him like I’m meant to do and he never needs to know about all the- all the lies.”

“Don’t you want Arthur to know what you’ve done?” Gaius’s tone was gently chiding. “You’ve always wanted him to understand what you’ve done for him, what you are willing to do. But more than that, don’t you think Arthur deserves to know the truth of everything that has been happening since you came to Camelot?”

Merlin considered this. He desperately wanted Arthur to value him and to accept his magical nature but Merlin was aware that behind every magical beast he had slain, behind every evil sorcerer he had thwarted and behind every time he had saved Arthur’s life or protected Camelot there were a hundred little lies, a hundred deceptions and distortions, a hundred tiny betrayals. 

Of course, Arthur deserved to know the truth. He had deserved that nearly from the beginning. The question was once he knew the truth would he value and accept Merlin for all the good he had done or would he despise and reject him for the lies and secrecy that had accompanied the good.

“If you were me, you would not tell him.” It was the closest the kind-hearted sorcerer would ever come to an accusation.

“You’re right. In your place, I would not tell my king the truth.” Gaius confessed. “But remember, Merlin, my King was Uther. He wanted me to lie and he knew better than to trust me.”

Merlin jerked back as though struck. After a moment, he murmured, “sorry”.

“It doesn’t matter.” Gaius shrugged and forced a tight smile. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, my boy. Now, I think I might just lie down for a bit. I’m not as young as I once was.” Merlin stood up and embraced the old man. Gaius returned the hug with something of his old strength but after only a moment Gaius gently pushed away.

“I suppose I should go and see Arthur.” It was almost a question as though Merlin was still hoping for something that would allow him- in good conscience- to avoid the revelation of truths long hidden. But Gaius only nodded and patted his shoulder.

“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius exclaimed as though a thought had just occurred to him. “If you are going to see Arthur you might want to… um… find a shirt without leach slime splashed all over it.”

Laughing shakily Merlin looked down at himself to find that he was covered in dust, dirt, cobwebs and more than a little leach slime.  
*  
When Merlin entered the King’s chambers he found them empty. He had expected that as he knew Arthur was scheduled to be in a meeting in the council chambers. It was what he had wanted; a chance to gather his thoughts in a place that reminded him of Arthur before his confession. Sighing, Merlin put his back to the door and surveyed the rooms. They did not feel as familiar to him as the ones Arthur had occupied as prince. Merlin had not spent nearly the time and effort caring for these chambers as he had the others. His mood already nostalgic, Merlin went over to look out of Arthur’s brooding window. In this respect, the prince’s chambers were much like the king’s and Merlin wondered if a penchant for standing in front of glass while looking pensive was a necessary attribute of royalty. Gazing down at the courtyard, Merlin’s peasant perspective gained him no new insight.

Moving about the room, Merlin let his hand wander over the books and maps piled on the worktable. He stopped to pet the fur that had been hung over the back of Arthur’s chair. Arthur did not really sentimentalize objects and so most of the things he surrounded himself with served a particular function. In fact, Arthur’s taste seemed to be so minimalist that Merlin often wondered how he had always managed to make such a mess for Merlin to pick up. 

There were no beloved items from childhood, no mementos of battles or tournaments, no objects of random, purposeless beauty. Recently there were two exceptions to that. First, there were the flowers Gwen had placed in Arthur’s rooms. Merlin suspected that Arthur didn’t even notice the flowers but Merlin felt they brightened the room considerably and he was always pleased to see what new combinations of blossoms Gwen would find. The second was that there was now a blanket by the fireplace covered in dog hair. Cabal, a six-month old wolf hound had recently taken to following Arthur around and Arthur had taken to letting her. Now Cabal could be found padding around the castle or curled up on her blanket by the fire as often as she could be found in the kennels. 

All this was in striking contrast to Merlin’s own room. The sorcerer couldn’t go a week without finding something to add to his collections. Oddly colored rocks stood side by side with a shard of pottery from a broken mug he had subconsciously picked up and put in his pocket during the bar fight where he and Arthur had first met Gawain, a button from one of his mother’s old dresses, a scrap of fabric, Balinor’s dragon carving, a copper coin with a bent nail through it, Gaius’s rabbit’s foot and a dozen other pieces of this and that. All these familiar things around him made Merlin feel safe and they reminded him of all the people he cared for and who cared for him.

The sound of the door opening followed immediately by the sound of Arthur’s voice jolted Merlin from his reverie. The king was clearly in the middle of a conversation as he stood on the threshold of his chambers so Merlin waited for him to finish before announcing himself.

“. . . .Copy of each guild’s charter before- before the meeting.”

“Tomorrow afternoon, Sire.” Merlin could not quite place the voice of the man who answers the king.

“Right. Tomorrow afternoon. Do we have copies of the guilds’ bylaws as well?”

“I don’t know, Sire. We may have for some of the older guilds—although if they have been amended since we probably won’t have any indication of it.” From the context, Merlin was now able to identify the second speaker as Tom Mallory, one of the scribes serving under Geoffrey of Monmouth.

Arthur sighed. “Bring me what you can find. How is the catalog coming along?”

“We’ve just discovered another secret room and we still haven’t found space for all the books brought up from the vaults- and the ones that Geoffrey . . . . found, so I’m afraid it has been slow going, but we’re doing our best, Sire. Geoffrey in particular has been working very hard.” Tom’s tone was apologetic and what lay unspoken in his words was that Geoffrey- even Geoffrey working very hard- was a bit plodding.

“Perhaps,” Arthur considered “you ought to take primary responsibility for this project so that Geoffrey can be available for more important concerns.” It was a fact often obscured by Arthur’s general prattishness but the king really did make an effort not to openly disparage anyone if he could help it. Merlin, knights in training and people who were rude to Guinevere were the obvious exceptions.

“As you wish, Sire.” There was both relief and pleasure in Tom’s tone. “If that is all…”

“Yes—No, wait. Have you found out anything more about… about what I asked you?” Arthur concluded, apparently feeling that he had given sufficient explanation.

“I haven’t found anything that addresses the topic directly, Sire.”

“I’d settle for something that addressed it indirectly at this point.” Arthur commented dryly.

“It is the sort of thing that the Druids may have taken an interest in, but they did not write books.” Tom replied apologetically.

“Of course, because why shouldn’t each generation have to start from bloody scratch.” Arthur’s tone was scathing but Merlin detected more frustration than contempt.

“My understanding is that the Druids believe that it is sacrilegious to imprison words in writing. They entrust their learning to lore masters who guard it and then pass on the wisdom of the people.” 

“Well,” and here Merlin could all but see Arthur dismissing the whole of the oral tradition with a wave of his hand. “That doesn’t do us much good . . . unless we happen to have a Druid lore master? Tucked away in one of the secret rooms?”

“Not that I am aware, Sire.” Tom paused and then in a much quieter voice continued to speak. “It may be- now that the law is changing . . . perhaps a Druid lore master might come forward, might be willing . . . We could . . . there are so many questions. . .”

“I shouldn’t expect it- if for no other reason than they know we’ll just write it all down.” Arthur drawled. Despite his flippancy, Merlin could hear a soft thump which he knew was Arthur’s hand landing on Tom’s shoulder. Merlin had seen this gesture hundreds of times. It was a gesture that said: ‘You’ve done very well and I value your service’ because Arthur really had trouble saying those sorts of things with words.

Merlin didn’t know what the subject of Tom’s investigation was meant to be but his curiosity was only mildly aroused. Just now Arthur was particularly keen on trying to work out what sorts of evidence would be probative in determining someone’s guilt or innocence in a magical crime and whether it was the same sort of evidence that was probative in a non-magical crime. Merlin assumed Tom had been tasked with something like finding any accounts of trial by ordeal that amounted to more than theatre. 

It wasn’t that Merlin didn’t think that these things were important. Of course they were. Merlin steadfastly believed that laws and the enforcement of laws should always be as fair as possible. It was just that when it actually came down to creating laws and procedure likely to lead to fairness he quickly got bogged down, lost in exceptions, unintended consequences and conflicting rights. 

“Merlin? What are you doing?” 

Merlin had just been considering if he might try to find Iseldir again at some point. If Arthur wanted to talk to a Druid then Iseldir was at least someone he thought could probably be trusted. When Merlin was broken from his reverie he found Arthur staring at him with a combination of irritation (which was typical) and trepidation (which was not).

“Hi. Sorry. What can I do for you, Sire?” Merlin brought out his giant grin as it had seen him through many such situations reasonably unscathed.

“You can stop skulking about to start.” The nervousness was even more apparent behind these words and Merlin could tell by the set of Arthur’s shoulders that he was bracing himself for something. He turned away from Merlin and walked across the room before flinging himself into his usual chair. 

“Come on, we need to have a chat.” Arthur invited, pushing another chair away from the table with his foot. Merlin found it difficult to move. Now was the time. It had taken years to come to this point but suddenly it was too soon.

“Come on.” Arthur repeated even more brusquely when he saw that Merlin hadn’t moved.

“You’ve spoken to Gaius, I take it.” Arthur asked, after Merlin had somehow managed to drag himself across the room and into the chair Arthur had pushed out for him.

“Yes.”

Arthur nodded. “So, do you want to be a sorcerer, Merlin?” Arthur had intended to continue in the same brusque, practical manner he had started in but he sounded tired.

“Yes.”

There was more nodding accompanied by a chin stroke. “Not a physician then?” Arthur asked as though he had some hope Merlin might change his mind.

“No.”

“I thought you had a vocation for medicine.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, genuinely surprised. Healing magic had always been difficult for Merlin and the fact that he seemed especially inept when it came to healing Arthur troubled him deeply.

“Well, you were getting good at it. Gaius said so and I- the knights- the knights and I had come to rely on you for that sort of thing when we were away from Camelot. Besides, you always seem to feel compelled to help people.”

Merlin took a moment to enjoy the warmth these words created in his belly before he said quietly. “I can help people with magic, too, Arthur. I can use magic to help you. I have used it help you. Magic itself is neither good nor evil. It’s all in the intent. It’s like a sword. It is how-“

“Yes, all right but it is not just intent.” Arthur cut him off. “It’s also about results. Look, I see the point you’re making. You think magic is just a means that can be directed to any end. Like a sword you said.” 

Arthur rubbed vigorously at the bridge of his nose before looking up to capture Merlin’s gaze. Arthur had wrestled with these ideas longer than he cared to think about but understanding remained elusive. He understood magic had been used to protect Camelot in the past. It was there in so many strange happenings, in Gaius’s furtive looks and Uther’s selective curiosity. So, now, he had to renounce it or accept it. To do both was ultimately untenable. Yet to truly commit to either course was dangerous. How could he be sure he was doing the right thing? 

Taking a breath, Arthur plunged ahead. “But, you do see, Merlin, the thing about a sword-one of the actually rather critical features of a sword is that it’s supposed to kill people. You can’t really use it to harvest grain. You can’t chop firewood with it. It’s not very good for hunting food. The only thing a neither-good-nor-evil sword is really any use at all for is killing people or threatening to kill people. Some people may need killing and more may need threatening but you can understand, Merlin, how it’s not really fair to expect a king to be pleased about swords being randomly distributed throughout the population.”

“Perhaps the analogy would be improved with a more general purpose tool.” Merlin murmured. He had thought the sword comparison was compelling and now he wished he had thought it through a bit more.

Arthur smiled wryly. “Not really. The analogy doesn’t work at all because of the sheer scale of what magic can do. What mundane tool wielded by a single person could come close to what we’ve seen individual sorcerers do?” 

“If magic can do great evil then surely it can also do great good.” Merlin pleaded. He wanted to say that the ability to do huge feats of magic was terribly rare. There weren’t many who could do what Nimue or Morgause or Merlin himself could do but he wasn’t sure how much that argument would really help at the moment.

“I- I suppose, maybe. I don’t know. I just know I’m not willing to do the things that I would have to do to eradicate magic- even if it were possible.” Arthur conceded. “Look, I’m not going to argue about it. Magic is no longer forbidden. I won’t- I can’t tell you not to study it. It may even be a good thing, even though you’re a bit of an idiot and I really can’t imagine what kind of sorcerer you’d make. Still though to have a sorcerer on Camelot’s side, in addition to Gaius, of course. What I am trying to say is that yes I think sorcery is very dangerous but it’s not something that is going to go away. It’s going to be a challenge for Camelot. There’s been so much fear and we are all going to need to learn how to trust each other again- maybe forgive. We’re going to have to find a way to live together under the same law. Having people with magic who are willing to help, willing to fight when magic threatens Camelot, who share the same hope that we can get through this, that we really can promise justice to all our people- I’m going to need those kinds of allies, Merlin. I think if I could choose someone to use magic, someone who wouldn’t be corrupted by it, someone whose loyalty I would never have to doubt, I think I would choose you.”

Arthur took a breath and winced a little at the word salad he had just produced. He had been aiming at encouraging and he wasn’t sure if he had managed coherent. He looked at Merlin tentatively trying to determine if the other man had got the gist. 

Merlin didn’t seem to be paying attention. Whether he had gotten the gist or not he was clearly in the midst of some profound emotional upheaval. Arthur considered trying to clarify what he had just said but after a moment he decided that it was unlikely to help and so he waited.

A voice in Merlin’s brain was screaming at him to let this be. He could have everything now. He would just need to take a few months- maybe a year- to ‘learn’ sorcery and he could have everything that he had been promised- a place at Arthur’s side and a vital role in the making of a unified Albion. It could all be his without ever having to jeopardize Arthur’s trust in him by telling the complete truth. What was truth, after all, that Merlin should be asked to risk sacrificing Arthur’s affection for its sake? 

The idea Merlin needed to keep always in the forefront of his mind was that he needed to protect Arthur- that came before everything else. And, if Arthur didn’t trust Merlin then how could Merlin protect him. Really- if he thought about it, Merlin didn’t have a choice. He needed Arthur’s trust. If the only way to have that trust was not to deserve it then, well, maybe that was just one of those things.

And yet . . . and yet if Merlin let this opportunity to confess pass by what would happen if the truth ever did come to light? Could Merlin afford to learn nothing from Uther’s mistakes? Did Merlin really believe he could live his whole life without a reckoning? 

But how could Merlin bear to see Arthur look at him the way he had looked at Uther when he had challenged him after seeing Morgause’s vision of Igrane; or the way he looked at Morgana when she took Camelot’s crown for her own and broke their father’s heart; or the way he had looked at Guinevere when she was found in Lancelot’s passionate embrace; or the way he had looked at Agravaine as he marched at Morgana’s side bringing fire and the sword to the people of Camelot. 

Merlin wouldn’t hurt Arthur. Merlin was better than those people- even Gwen, Gwen who was kind and loving and thoroughly good. Gwen, though she had been manipulated by magic, had still hurt Arthur and Merlin hadn’t. So, Merlin was better than her. Except that Merlin wasn’t better than Gwen- not even close. He wasn’t even better than the others- not until he could bring himself to stop pretending that Arthur wasn’t hurt when his most powerful servant felt he could lie to his king with impunity.

“I already am a sorcerer, Arthur.”

“Gaius has taught you a lot, has he?” Arthur tried to keep the disapproval out of his expression. He had expected more caution from Gaius.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, I have learned a lot from Gaius but I was a sorcerer before I came to Camelot- a very powerful one, actually. I’m a lot more powerful than Gaius- I don’t mean to boast, it’s just really true. I’ve done a lot of magic- not always . . . I’ve done some things that maybe . . . well that were questionable but I’ve done tremendous things as well. I’ve saved your life so many, many times and that’s what it is for, Arthur. My magic is meant for you, to protect you, to help you. Whatever I’ve done, whatever you think of what I’ve done, please believe that.” Merlin swallowed convulsively, trying to rein in the torrent of words before they careered into incoherence. He looked at Arthur and in the ensuing silence Merlin opened and closed his mouth several times on the verge of speaking before thinking better of it.

“I suppose you had better tell me about it.” Arthur’s face was a carefully composed blank and Merlin had trouble hearing him over the sudden ringing in his ears. 

“Yes, I want to tell you.” And suddenly Merlin was desperate to tell him everything. A rush of words was crushing their way up into his throat wild for release but Merlin still held them back in a frantic attempt to assert some control. “There is so much to tell, though, Arthur, Sire. Promise you’ll let me speak until I’m done- until I’ve told you all of it.”

Arthur nodded carefully. He seemed so cold. No, not cold, he seemed distant as though he was already moving away from Merlin.

“And remember that all of it has been for you. Truly, Arthur, Sire, I’m loyal to you, to Camelot-“

“That’s really not helping right now, Merlin. Get on with it.” Arthur demanded and Merlin had to grin because Arthur’s annoyance made him seem not so far away after all.

“Yes. Right. It’s just. . . There’s no easy way to say this.”

“I’m guessing there’s not going to be an easy way to hear it either.” Arthur huffed and then said more quietly, “Come on.”

So Merlin began to tell Arthur of all that he had seen and done since his mother had sent him to Camelot so many years ago.

It started well enough. Arthur seemed to respond sympathetically to Hunith’s fears for her child and her hope that her old friend Gaius, knowledgeable in such matters, might be able to help Merlin understand his gifts, control them and put them to a useful purpose. He also seemed to seriously take it in when Merlin described how it felt to have witnessed that first execution when he came to Camelot and then so many more after that.

It did not seem to amuse the King or strike a fond remembrance, however, as Merlin moved on to speak of their first meeting. Merlin had hoped Arthur might feel a little vindicated to know that Merlin had needed magic to hold his own in their first encounters but apparently not. In recounting the tale, Merlin found he had forgotten that he had actually been the one to throw the first punch. Arthur had provoked him of course, but somehow in Merlin’s memory Arthur had turned into the complete aggressor.

“Wait! You spoke with the dragon?” Arthur demanded as Merlin described hearing his name called in the night and following it to a cavern beneath the castle.

“Sire, you promised you’d let me tell the whole story.”

“I can’t ask questions! What the hell did the dragon have to say to you?” Every muscle in Arthur’s body was tensed but he was still seated and he did not appear to be looking for his sword.

“I’ll tell you everything. I just- it’s better if I can tell it in my own way.”

Arthur was silent for nearly a minute before inclining his head a fraction. Merlin took this as permission to continue.

“So, kilgharrah-“

“kilgharrah?”

“So, the Great Dragon, kilgharrah, told me that you and I have a destiny together, that we’re opposite sides of the same coin and that you’re meant to be a great king- the greatest king and I’m meant to use my magic to help you and protect you.”

“And did that seem plausible to you, what kilgharrah said?” Arthur’s pronunciation of the dragon’s name seeped contempt.

“Not immediately.” Merlin answered with a great deal of dignity for someone who had just felt several drops of sweat roll down the sides of his ribs. “I believe it now, though. I’m certain of it.”

Arthur did not answer so Merlin pressed on. He talked about Valiant and the Afanc and Arthur’s eyes seemed to soften a bit. He did not plan to say much about the goblet Nimue had poisoned because Arthur knew most of what happened already. He just meant to add that Gaius had needed to use a little magic or the cure Arthur had risked his life to find wouldn’t work but Arthur had more questions. “So you drank that poison because the dragon said you had to protect me?”

“No- well, I mean it was nice to have a dragon explain what was happening but that wasn’t why.” Merlin struggled to explain that it wasn’t Merlin’s destiny to protect Arthur because kilgharrah said so rather it was his destiny and the dragon just happened to have said so in a particularly authoritative manner. “I didn’t think about why. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t drink that poison.”

“You could have let me drink the poison and then found the morteus flower yourself- probably with less trouble.” Arthur sounded sullen as though the inefficiency annoyed him.

“I didn’t think about it. I don’t think I could have thought about it like that- even had I known the poison had a cure at the time.” Merlin shrugged. He didn’t plan things. Things happened and Merlin reacted. When the thing that happened was a threat to Arthur Merlin’s reaction was to remove the threat as quickly and completely as he could.

“Did you send the light?” Arthur asked. He had apparently decided to hear Merlin’s story as calmly as possible and Merlin had to admit that the king was doing fairly well.

“What light?”

“There was a light in the cave with the flower. Nimue had taken the torch and it was pitch black. Spider things were coming at me. They made this chittering noise . . . Anyway, there was a blue light and I followed it out. Was that you?”

“Probably. I was delirious but Gaius said that I was working magic. I remember dreaming about you and a cave and the sound of claws on rock.” Merlin let a shudder pass through him. He still sometimes dreamed of Arthur in the cave only in these dreams Arthur couldn’t see at all and the spider creatures swarmed over him, weighing him down until he fell in the blackness.

Arthur appeared to absorb this information for a moment before gesturing for Merlin to go on. As Merlin could have predicted Arthur was very displeased to learn that Lancelot had known (‘completely by accident, I would not have chosen to tell him’) about Merlin’s magic but Arthur was also annoyed that Lancelot’s forged proof of nobility had come from Merlin. This detail seemed utterly irrelevant in the scheme of things to Merlin but Arthur paused over it lips pressed tightly together. 

“Does Gwen know?” Arthur asked in a small voice after the point in the story where Lancelot left Camelot rather than be the cause of acrimony.

“Know what?”

“About your magic.” Arthur did not add ‘idiot’ as he might have done and Merlin told himself firmly not to over-analyze.

“No, Arthur. Just my mum, Will, Gaius, kilgharrah, Lancelot (which was an accident), Gilli (I’ll get to him but he’s not important really) and . . .”

“And?”

“The Druids.” Merlin confessed.

“The Druids? What, like, all of them?” Arthur was incredulous.

“Well, a lot of them- I think. The Druids are very keen on prophecies and such and they have tended to know things about me without me telling them. They can talk without actually talking. It can be disconcerting.” Merlin attempted to explain.

“Well, I should think so.” Arthur said drily, eyebrows raised but he appeared to be prepared to let the question of Druids rest for the time being because he made an imperious ‘continue’ gesture with his hand. 

Merlin was allowed to go on for a while but Arthur stopped him again after he told the tale of Sophia and her father and their attempt to regain their immortality by sacrificing Arthur: “Why didn’t you tell me I was under a spell?”

“Well, I tried, Sire, but you were under a spell.” Merlin smiled weakly.

“No, I mean after. Why not tell me after that I had been enchanted?”

“I- I don’t know. I suppose then we would have had to come up with a way to explain how the spell was broken and it seemed best not to mention magic if it could be helped. I was scared, Arthur. You were almost drowned. I just wanted to forget the whole thing.” Merlin hated thinking about that frantic scene by the lake, panic warring with despair as each new second passed and Merlin found no sign of Arthur.

“I thought I had been drugged. I hoped I had been drugged.” Arthur’s eyes were averted and he spoke softly. “I couldn’t remember what had happened or . . . my memories didn’t make sense. It would have been . . . I would have liked to know what was going on.”

Merlin didn’t feel like he had anything to say to this so he just went on. He spoke of Mordred and Excalibur. He confessed that he had been the sorcerer and not Will. As Arthur listened a certain weariness seemed to come over him. At several points Arthur seemed on the verge of more questions but then he slouched back in his chair as if to say it didn’t really matter. He did flinch though to hear of Morgana’s cooperation with Tauren. “So long ago?” Arthur whispered. “Morgana was set on murder so long ago, and you knew for years . . .”

“She wasn’t though.” Merlin was overcome with the sudden urge to defend Morgana. “She was angry about Gwen’s father, but she changed her mind, couldn’t go through with it.”

“If you hadn’t been there it wouldn’t have mattered that she changed her mind.” Arthur snapped but he was already losing the will to argue and the sentence ended in sadness where it had begun in anger. 

While Merlin was certainly glad that Arthur hadn’t gone for his sword- he wasn’t even yelling! Merlin worried about the oppressive weight that seemed to have fallen over the other man- like he was being suffocated. The news of the questing beast and Nimue’s death struck Arthur harder than Merlin had expected. The symmetry of that event with the deal that had led to his birth overwhelmed Arthur. Merlin had been willing to die for his sake but it had nearly been Hunith who took Igraine’s part. If not for Gaius and if not for the strength of Merlin’s magic then Hunith would have been the second innocent woman sacrificed for Arthur. A sense of hopelessness began to descend over Arthur but, as in a losing battle, he replaced hope with the determination to keep going until the end whenever and however it came.

Halfway through recounting the events of Cornelius Sigan’s resurrection, Merlin found himself unable to resist asking Arthur why he had sacked him. He hadn’t planned to ask. He didn’t really want Arthur to know how much that rejection had hurt him but when the time came so did the question.

“I don’t know.” Arthur answered after long moments of silence. “I think . . . It seemed safer. You would disappear, sometimes for days and there were times when you were here that you were thinking of something else, wishing you were somewhere else. I suppose I thought it was only a matter of time before you started working for Gaius full time, or married some girl, or went off to wherever you went off to without coming back. I thought I’d rather it ended on my terms.” Arthur’s voice was dull, almost apathetic and Merlin felt his heart clench. He wanted to talk about this. He wanted to talk about so many of the revelations he had made. There was so much, so much that needed to be dealt with but Merlin was afraid to stray too far from the story at hand. He felt that if he let himself get diverted he would never be able finish the whole story and he had to finish. The pressure to reveal every secret to confess every lie and unmask every act of heroic self-sacrifice was now burning brightly within him.

So it went on. Merlin talked about assassins, hunting trips, bandits, visiting nobles and chores completed with uncanny quickness. He revealed that Merlin had sent Morgana to the Druids and they had been trying to help her when they had been caught and cut down by Camelot’s knights. He confessed to the irony of the witchfinder being exactly correct as well as innocent of any sorcery as far as Merlin knew. Tensing, Merlin told Arthur that he was fairly sure that the image Morgause had shown him of Igraine was truthful. Arthur did not react much, however. He had apparently already come to some sort of understanding of those events that let him accept that everyone had twisted the truth for their own purposes. In the end, Igraine was dead. Blaming Uther or Nimue or Igraine herself for whatever deals they’d made or tried to make didn’t change that. 

Merlin faltered over explaining Freya and what she had meant. Now when Merlin tried to think of Freya he was more likely to think of the Lady of the Lake than the Druid girl. Arthur asked if Merlin had loved her and Merlin struggled to find the answer that would come closest to truth. She had needed him- needed him desperately and she had known it. Merlin had found her dependence so compelling even as it made him a little ashamed. He had shown her his magic and she had looked at him with wide-eyed wonder. Being able to show off- just a little- for one of the few times in his life had been exhilarating. Yet, Merlin could have told Arthur everything he knew about Freya twice in five minutes with time left over. 

And in the end, Freya hadn’t really trusted Merlin to save her. Maybe she had been too tired or too beaten down or perhaps- frightened child though she was- she could still see that Merlin was not for her- that there was only one person Merlin would always save. Ultimately, it didn’t even matter if he had loved Freya- if Freya had survived, if Merlin had found a way to cure her, Merlin still would have ended up back in Camelot. Finally, he told Arthur that he had wanted to be in love with Freya but wasn’t sure if he had.

There were more love spells- and apparently poor Vivian might still be enchanted for all anyone seemed to care- and more flirtation between Morgana and Camelot’s enemies. It sounded dreadfully sordid to Arthur- all the sneaking about and abuse of trust. When Merlin confessed to poisoning Morgana on the dragon’s instruction in an attempt to free Camelot from Morgause’s sleep spell Arthur found himself feeling neither anger nor pity. He felt only a deep disappointment in all of them and especially in himself because he had been so sure that they had all been united that day. He had believed- naively, stupidly- that despite the desperation of their situation that they would prevail because evil could not triumph if it was opposed by men and women bound together by trust, loyalty and the unshakeable determination to fight for what was right.

Arthur knew it was coming. He saw it hurtling inevitably toward him. Like in a dream he was frozen- unable to move. There was no way to avoid or escape and he didn’t dare close his eyes against it. Arthur braced himself as best he could. Still, when Merlin told him that he had released the dragon, Arthur took the blow like a bolt from a crossbow- right in the chest. He wanted to be sick, felt the bile rising in him as he struggled not to stagger and collapse. Arthur fought the nausea down though and looked the man he had thought of as his friend straight in the eye as he had not done for many minutes.

“People died, Merlin. Homes burned. Livelihoods were destroyed. Wives were made widows and children were made orphans.”

“I know.” There were tears in Merlin’s eyes as he met Arthur’s gaze. “I know, but I didn’t think I had any choice. I honestly didn’t believe that kilgharrah would actually do it. I know sorry can’t ever be enough, but I’ve always tried to make the best decisions I could.”

“It wasn’t your choice to make.” Arthur snarled. “If it truly had to have been done, then I should have been the one to do it. The responsibility for the choice and all its repercussions should have been mine. It is mine anyway- though this way there is no honor in it.”

“I wanted to protect you, Arthur. I didn’t know how else to do it.”

Arthur wanted to laugh except he was afraid it would bring the nausea back- so he just stared. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of anything. He needed time but he had to hear it all first so he bit back the ravening anger and told Merlin to go on.

The newly made Dragonlord who was also a sorcerer who was also the loyal though idiot manservant to the prince sent the Great Dragon away with orders never to attack again. The fact that Merlin had told Arthur that the prince had dealt the creature a mortal blow was only a personal humiliation and not an immediate threat to Camelot so Arthur did his best not to care.

The sudden knock sent a visible shudder through Merlin just as he was in the midst of describing the enchantment Morgana and Morgause had used to drive Uther mad. For a moment neither Arthur nor Merlin was really able to process the interruption so completely absorbed were they in Merlin’s revelations. There was another knock and then the door swung inward. 

“Arthur?” Gwen peered around the edge of the door, clearly worried about intruding. The door was pushed out of her hand though as Cabal came bounding in to dance around Arthur’s feet.

“Guinevere!” Arthur called jumping to his feet and flinging a hand out to his wife.

“Is everything all right?” The queen asked responding to her husband’s cry of her name and almost violent gesture by rushing to his side. Arthur clasped an arm tightly about Gwen’s waist and pressed her close to him. Merlin who had also come to his feet wasn’t sure if Arthur was trying to protect Gwen or seeking comfort from her.

“Oh, Merlin, is it Hunith?” Gwen asked when no one would answer her. Her gaze shifted back and forth between Arthur and Merlin. What she saw only increased her agitation.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Arthur finally managed. “Everything is all right.” Gwen wrinkled her brow at that because everything was clearly not all right.

“Merlin has- is . . . Merlin has a great deal of magic, power- a great deal of powerful magic.” Arthur spoke as though each word was hard and sharp and he had to breathe very carefully around it.

“Oh! Oh, so does that- oh.” Gwen had turned toward Arthur and away from Merlin. Her fingers caught at her husband’s sleeve and she seemed to sway on her feet for just a moment. Pressed against Arthur’s shoulder she spoke again- too low for Merlin to make out what she was saying except for the last word because Gwen’s voice broke on it, “Morgana?”

Arthur held Gwen close whispering earnestly to her and just as quickly as Gwen had broken down she regained her composure. The Queen took a deep breath and turned to Merlin. She managed a smile for him and even reached over to pat his arm. Merlin bit his lip hard to hold back tears.

“Shall I leave you to it, then?” Gwen asked, trying for her usual cheerfulness and falling short. “I can meet with Sir Kay and the others by myself if you like?” This was directed at Arthur who was only now remembering that the Seneschal, various castle officials and senior servants had probably already been gathered to discuss running the castle and to some extent running the kingdom while Arthur was touring through the northern and western parts of the realm. 

“Are you sure? We could reschedule?”

“No, I’m certain it will be fine. Thank you, though.” Gwen smiled, almost herself again- thoughts of Merlin and magic already being pushed into the background to be considered when there was not a task at hand.

Arthur nodded and then said softly: “We’ll talk later.”

Gwen gave her husband a quick hug and then reached over to Merlin to pat his arm again. She was still for a moment as though she wanted to say something. In the end, she satisfied herself by squeezing Arthur’s arm and giving Merlin one more awkward pat. As she tried to move away though she suddenly became aware of Cabal. The dog had lain down at Arthur’s feet and now she threatened to trip Gwen as she tried to turn toward the door. With a choking laugh, Gwen bent to scratch the dog’s head. Then she clicked her tongue and patted her skirt to urge the dog to follow her. At first, Cabal was reluctant to go but Arthur gave her a gentle shove with his foot, she whined but trotted after Gwen. At the door Gwen stopped once more. Her expression was full of soft sadness and gentle entreaty but she said nothing before pulling the door closed with a gentle click.

The silence continued as both men remained standing- not quite looking at each other. Then Arthur dragged a goblet towards him from the other end of the table and filled it with water. He took a cautious sip before deciding he didn’t want it. He pushed the goblet toward Merlin and resumed his seat. 

“Thanks,” Merlin murmured before taking the cup and drinking thirstily. His throat was dry with so much talking and the water soothed him. When he finished the goblet he refilled it before sitting down again.

“We have to finish this.” Arthur didn’t want more, there was so much already. So many of his memories had been shown to be unreliable or the result of confabulation. It was worse than realizing truths he had always taken for granted were false. He was now realizing that facts he had always taken for granted were just imaginary. He was adrift. He was going to have to rebuild his understanding of the world from- from what? What was left? Before he could even think about that though, he needed to know everything.

Merlin just nodded and resumed his story, telling of goblins, sidhe and a manticore. To Merlin’s own ears, his attempt to thwart the visions he saw in the crystal cave seemed contradictory and confused. Arthur winced when Merlin revealed how and when Morgana’s parentage had been discovered but he didn’t say anything. He remained silent as Merlin related how Morgana had sabotaged their efforts to rescue Elyan at the castle of Fyrien and Arthur shook his head in bafflement when he learned that Morgana’s gift of a phoenix eye bracelet had been intended to slowly kill him. When Merlin spoke of meeting the Fisher King and gaining the true prize from the quest, Arthur laughed- the sound harsh and ugly. 

“Merlin, no!” Arthur whispered after hearing that Dragoon the Great was Merlin in disguise. “Oh, Merlin.”

“Wait, Arthur, please! You have to hear it all. I swear I never meant your father harm.” Merlin begged, watching Arthur carefully in case he looked like he was going for his sword. Arthur remained seated, though. He didn’t even yell. Merlin tried not to be frightened by this.

Arthur felt numb. He embraced the numbness. He let himself hear about Merlin and Lancelot’s defeat of the undead army as though from far away. He took in the fact that there was now another dragon beside kilgharrah in Albion as though it were some other realm. It worried him a little that Gwen had known Morgana had bespelled Merlin to try and kill him and that she had not seen fit to share that information but he pushed that worry away. Merlin talked and talked and Arthur listened like it was a story about somewhere else.

Suddenly, the feeling of remoteness vanished. Arthur drew in a deep shuddering breath as though he had been doused in cold water. Merlin looked at him in some confusion, not understanding what had caused Arthur’s sudden alarm. Arthur gestured quickly for him to continue, unwilling to reveal what Merlin had done that had scared him so badly. Frowning, Merlin talked about killing Agravaine in the caves and about Excalibur finally coming home.

When everything had been told and there was nothing left, Arthur sank his head into his hands and devoted all of his energy to not throwing up. Merlin stared at the top of Arthur’s bowed head and bit his tongue to keep from filling the silence with pleas, assurances and justifications. 

Arthur’s silence unnerved Merlin. He had expected anger, shouting maybe even violence. Merlin had always thought that if he could somehow weather the first onslaught of Arthur’s rage then that would be the worst of it but this wasn’t Arthur angry. This was Arthur lost and wounded. Merlin did not know what to do.

A few minutes passed before Arthur’s battle not to throw up came to an uneasy stalemate and he was able to marshal some of his concentration to make some decisions. What was he going to do about Merlin? A part of Arthur shrieked that nothing could be done about Merlin; nothing could be done about anything because Merlin was too powerful, too strong. He could destroy everything Arthur loved and then overturn his will so that Arthur wouldn’t even know to grieve. Arthur ruthlessly pushed these thoughts aside. True or not, such thoughts would lead to madness and he would not surrender to helpless panic while he had a choice.

So, what to do about Merlin? Arthur tried to put aside all his own feeling of hurt, humiliation and betrayal. He tried to pretend that that didn’t matter. He only wanted to think about what was just and what was in the best interests of Camelot. His own pride was nothing compared to that. Arthur knew this and yet he also knew that this wasn’t just a blow to his pride. This cut all the way through pride and stabbed deeply into his self-respect. Arthur wasn’t sure if he knew how to recover from that.

“Do you know what it would have meant to me, Merlin, if you could have honestly said that you had never used your magic against me?” Arthur lifted his head at the end of the question he had not intended to ask. He didn’t want to start this way. Again he told himself not to get caught up in the personal hurt- it was selfish and petty, it couldn’t be allowed to distract from a careful appraisal of all that he had learned- but the hurt was too strong. He couldn’t pretend to think rationally. He had to . . . 

“Do you know what it would have meant if you could have said that you had never used your magic against me except in self-defense? Or even that you had only used it for self-defense and a bit of fun- the occasional little joke at my expense?” The nausea surged again and Arthur swallowed hard. “It would have been something- even- if you could have managed not to use your magic against me except for all that and to protect your secrets. You can’t tell me that, though, can you, Merlin.”

Merlin’s first instinct was to vehemently deny ever using his magic against Arthur. It didn’t feel as though he had- it felt as if it were impossible. Surely, Merlin couldn’t use magic against Arthur even if he wanted to- but he had, hadn’t he. Yes, but ultimately, it had all been in aid of protecting Arthur. 

He had never meant Arthur harm. That was indisputable- that was the ground upon which Merlin would stand and fight. He had believed himself- he still believed himself- utterly loyal. He would die for Arthur, willingly, gladly. What was a bit of surreptitious magic- even if that magic was occasionally- once in a while- a bit . . . manipulative? Mischievous? Deceitful? compared to the devotion Merlin gave every day? And, yet . . .

Merlin looked at Arthur. Each breath his king drew seemed to require conscious thought. His eyes were fever bright and he was very still. It was the stillness of a man with a sword to his throat or a man out on a frozen lake after hearing a sudden cracking sound. Merlin hated to see Arthur this way. Merlin knew that he had sometimes done things of which he was not proud. How he had dealt with Morgana, letting Mordred live, releasing the dragon, all these things preyed on his mind but now he began to wonder if he had committed other betrayals without even noticing.

“I promise I won’t use my magic against you again.” It was perhaps too little, too late, but Merlin wanted to make this promise. He wished he had thought to do so earlier but he had never realized he needed to- that it had to be a rule. “Never again, not for self-defense or fun or to keep secrets or for any other reason. I swear it, Arthur.”

To Arthur’s surprise, he felt a little better. He had not expected that there was anything Merlin could say to lessen the sense of betrayal he felt but the promise given readily and without reservation eased him a bit. ‘I must believe him. I must still trust him somehow.’ Arthur thought in wonder and then, ‘I just don’t learn, do I?’ Arthur was taken aback at the bitterness and self-disgust contained in the latter thought. He needed to try again to think as clearly as possible.

“All right, Merlin. I-I understand why you did much of what you did.” Arthur started, trying to order the jumble of thoughts in his brain. It wasn’t that Arthur agreed with Merlin’s actions, it was just that Arthur had trouble imagining what Merlin could have done much differently. There had been no good choices available. With all of his own confusion he was tempted to wait, to deal with this later after he had time to think. There was an urgency within him, though, that could not tolerate leaving the matter unresolved. 

Merlin looked up hopefully. He had not expected to hear those words or at least not so soon. Somewhere in the long recital of events Merlin had come to realize how adrift he had become. Protecting Arthur had been his only mooring- without that he would have been utterly lost. Now though Merlin needed something more, needed something he knew intuitively only Arthur could provide. Forgiveness? Certainly, but there was something else. Punishment? Maybe. Purpose? Merlin was already very much aware of his destiny. Honor? Merlin did not have patience for such knightly virtues. Acceptance? Recognition? Yes, yes but still more. For the first time, Merlin caught a glimpse of what might come after the lies and secrets ended but it was still so far away.

“Except your silence protected traitors and allowed them the chance to murder my people and carry out their treason. And you released the dragon.” These were the two things Arthur could not let pass- not that he approved of everything else but these were the critical points- perhaps the unforgivable points. 

There was a third thing also but Arthur could not bring himself to confront Merlin with it. Arthur was the one who deserved responsibility for this third critical- unforgivable- point. Merlin had made decisions affecting Camelot that had been Arthur’s to make. He had used magic to overrule Arthur’s decisions. Merlin had- but Arthur wasn’t going to think about what Merlin had done because what Merlin had done didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because Arthur had let him do it or- just as bad- Arthur had not been able to stop him and that was for Arthur to carry. If he expected to be king, he had to carry it.

“I know.” Merlin said quietly. “But you must understand. Kilgharrah isn’t evil. I didn’t believe he would do what he did. He has helped Camelot before and after what happened. You have to see how it must have been for him. He believed himself the last of his kind. He had been betrayed and imprisoned for twenty years. He was angry.”

“That justifies it?”

“No, of course not. But, surely, it’s relevant, Sire. It was wrong but it can be understood.” Merlin pleaded. He needed to make the best case he could for the dragon, for himself and for all people of magic. When roused to it Arthur was capable of great compassion. For all that the dragon had acted out in grief and rage, for all that his goals and motivations were sometimes inscrutable, Merlin firmly believed that kilgharrah was an ally. Arthur would be forgiving if he could be brought to understand how much suffering there had been, how much fear and betrayal and loss and yet despite all that most people with magic did not seek vengeance- they wished to be loyal if given half a chance. They were all Arthur’s people and Arthur loved his people. “kilgharrah has done more good than harm to you, to Camelot. And the harm might have been averted with fair dealing.”

It had been a risk to criticize Uther- even obliquely and Merlin watched with trepidation as Arthur’s eyes darkened. “That is not how it works, Merlin! Even if he saved Camelot a dozen time, that doesn’t entitle him to a murder-spree. You can’t use one to cancel out the other as though saving one life gave you the right to take another. That may be how magic works but that doesn’t make it right.” Arthur was seething now and though it was frightening Merlin felt that this show of anger might be a positive sign. On Arthur’s next word, though, his anger seemed to drain away leaving only exhaustion. “The dragon believed he was wronged? Maybe he was, but he doesn’t get to do murder and still claim to be the victim.” 

Merlin said nothing. He didn’t even disagree. It was just that at every point Merlin had tried to do the right thing and he had no idea how it had become so tangled.

“What of Agravaine and Morgana? You knew what they were, what they planned. How could you keep silent?”

“Who would have believed me against Agravaine? Against Morgana?” Merlin shook his head to demonstrate the helplessness of it. 

Arthur let that sink in for a while. It was probably true that Merlin would not have been believed- not if it had been only his word against Morgana. Of course, if Merlin had not been constantly lying to everyone (and by everyone Arthur mainly meant himself) then the man might have accumulated more credibility. 

Arthur knew this wasn’t entirely fair even as he thought it. Merlin had always been right about the dangers he had ever warned against. Arthur had usually believed his sincerity but Merlin so seldom gave any reason for his warnings. Without evidence it was less a matter of lack of trust in Merlin and more a matter of fairness to whoever was being accused. Merlin could have supplied evidence if he had wanted to, though. He could have manufactured it- not that that was right but how much worse was it than insisting Arthur take everything Merlin said on faith while at the same time Merlin knew that he lied to Arthur more often than not.

“If you think I—whatever you want, Sire, whatever you think is best, I’ll do it. I’ll accept it.”

Merlin watched Arthur raise a skeptical eyebrow and it almost made him smile. Even so, Merlin flinched when Arthur moved suddenly but he was only getting up to go over to his brooding window. As Merlin waited, a calm descended over him. He was surprised that his mind was not spinning out desperate plans and contingencies. There were two- possibly contradictory- things that he felt with the inexorable force of destiny must happen. 

First, Arthur must make his own judgment about what was to be done. It had to be for the king to say if all that Merlin had done these many years warranted forgiveness or exile; honor or imprisonment; gratitude or rejection. The second thing Merlin knew with certainty was that he must not leave Arthur. Despite the pending dilemma Merlin found he was incapable of planning ‘what if’. He had never been much of a planner, Merlin realized, things happened and he reacted. That had always been the way of it and it seemed as though he would hold to pattern.

In contrast to Merlin’s calm Arthur was agitated. It took a great act of self-control to keep from pacing. Instead he leaned heavily against the window casement and looked out over the courtyard. His old window had also overlooked the courtyard but now everything could be seen from a different perspective and he wasn’t used to it. 

Despite the different view on the world Arthur could still see the people going about their lives. Each person a small universe unto himself with a unique set of experiences, interests, goals, fears, hopes and dreams. Each seeking to be happy, to be useful, to be loved, to be safe, to be admired, to be good…. It was Arthur’s task to make sure each of these people had the best chance possible to find his way. He needed to keep that at the forefront of his mind if he had any hope of getting through this.

For long minutes, Arthur thought about Merlin. He thought about how loyal Merlin had been. He thought about how much Merlin had lost and suffered and yet he had not wavered in his loyalty. Morgana had turned for less reason than Merlin had and that was just considering the fate of Freya and Balinor. 

Arthur also remembered the times he had been unkind to Merlin. Of course, he had given Merlin a hard time. Arthur had no compunction about the amount of work he’d heaped on Merlin nor did he regret the greater percentage of the insults he’d thrown his servant’s way. That was in the nature of things and Merlin had been complicit. Occasionally, though, it had amounted to more than that. Occasionally, he had pushed Merlin hard- as if he meant to hurt him. Arthur could not have said why. 

Even when Arthur was at his worst, though, Merlin’s support and love had never faltered. Arthur’s mind stuttered over the word ‘love’ but only a little. He recalled how much he had relied on that support even when that reliance shamed him, even when he took that shame out on Merlin. He had confided in Merlin in a way he had never confided in anyone else and often received wise counsel in return. It hurt terribly to think that Arthur had not really been the object of Merlin’s devotion, that it had all been for this dragon’s fantasy of a Once and Future King. Arthur was used to being valued for who he might become rather than for who he was but he had let himself believe that Merlin was different. He had thought Merlin had believed in who he was, not who he was going to be. It was a bitter disappointment yet Arthur could not turn his back on that sort of devotion- even if it had not really been for him. It had been for Camelot’s benefit and that was enough. There was no way that it could be justice to execute Merlin- even if it was justice how could Arthur bring himself to do it.

It couldn’t be justice to pardon Merlin either, not really, not when he had unleashed a dragon, not when he had kept his silence as trusted members of the court committed murder and treason, not as his every action undercut the authority of Camelot’s rulers even as he acted in Camelot’s defense. 

So, that left banishment or imprisonment. 

‘It doesn’t matter’, the now painfully familiar voice of panic wailed. ‘Nothing you do or say matters. He will do as he wishes and nothing can stop it.’ With disgust Arthur pushed these thoughts down. The question of whether or not Merlin would submit to his decision was not the point. He’d be damned if he modified his judgment based on what might or might not be acceptable to Merlin. The day he asked anyone’s permission to give his honest judgment was the day he gave up the throne.

So Banishment or imprisonment: neither option was satisfactory. It felt too slipshod and haphazard as though Arthur couldn’t make up his mind to punish or to pardon so decided to give up and split the difference. Arthur couldn’t think of Merlin imprisoned- locked away in darkness- chained like the dragon had been, left to steep in his own regrets and disappointed hopes until there was nothing left of the joy and exuberance that radiated from Merlin like heat from a furnace. 

There was also a central irony in imprisoning Merlin. The only way to hold Merlin would be if he allowed himself to be held. Arthur couldn’t imagine waking each morning to wonder if this would be the day Merlin fled- proving that he acknowledged no authority but his own power and thus his imprisonment was justified. Or perhaps worse, would the sun rise and set on another day where Arthur kept captive a man whose willingness to remain imprisoned proved he did not deserve to be imprisoned.

Despite it feeling like a half-measure, banishment was quickly gaining appeal. Merlin had clearly always meant well. There was no malice in him. Even now Arthur could see that. Maybe banishment would give them both a chance to make a fresh start. Merlin could look for someone who he felt deserved his respect. He could seek out someone who could understand and deal with his magic; someone who could keep him grounded; someone who wouldn’t put up with nonsense; someone he wouldn’t lie to. 

It would be good for Arthur, too. Without Merlin and his convenient miracles Arthur would have the chance to see the world as it was and to realistically assess his own abilities- or lack thereof. Arthur needed to know what he was capable of- even if he didn’t like the answer. Beside any practical consideration, how could Arthur bear to have someone close to him who had lied to him so blatantly, so blithely? Had concocting wild stories that Arthur invariably believed been funny for Merlin? Had he deliberately taken increasing risks just to see how far he could push Arthur’s apparent inability to suspect those he cared about? And what about the times Arthur had tried to warn Merlin away from magic? Arthur remembered how he had tried to tell Merlin how dangerous magic was, how easily it corrupted. Merlin must have found Arthur hilarious. Yes, banishment might be best for both of them.

The thought of Merlin in some other court, though, was devastating even now when Arthur thought everything had already been brought to ruin. Arthur recoiled at the idea that Merlin would be so . . . so mercenary. Yet, if Arthur sent him away how could he complain if the sorcerer took up another’s cause? 

Arthur remembered what it had felt like to banish Guinevere. The world had gone grey. Somehow Arthur knew banishing Merlin would be just as bad- perhaps worse. He needed Merlin- not his damn magic- Merlin. The two were the same, though. He couldn’t have the one without the other. And he couldn’t have the one, not really. The Merlin he knew had just been an illusion.

No, no, and no! Whatever else Merlin was, Merlin was his mess, his responsibility, his . . . . Arthur couldn’t send him away.

It had occurred to Arthur more than once in the long afternoon that he should dispense with all the anxious hand-wringing and attempts to be reasonable. He should just beat the snot out of the spindly little liar. There was a part of Arthur that urgently wanted to beat Merlin into a puddle- a weeping, pleading, desperately sorry, thoroughly dominated puddle. It was the part of him that didn’t care about justice or right and wrong. It howled that it was hurt and in pain and it wanted to hurt back harder. Arthur would not give in to that anger. He wouldn’t let it be relevant. He couldn’t even go so far as to let himself truly feel it. He didn’t want to hurt Merlin. The better part of him did not want to hurt Merlin.

There seemed no answer. Justice could not be done. Arthur let his burning forehead fall forward to rest against the cool windowpane. He was so tired. Memories flashed through Arthur’s mind but he didn’t know if they were actually his memories or the stories Merlin had told him. If he could just sleep a little, this all might make more sense. On the heels of that thought, though, Arthur’s sense of urgency returned. This had to come to a resolution now. He could not have this hanging over him unresolved. Merlin’s revelations had torn a hole in Arthur’s world and he dared not leave it bleeding.

Letting his head bump gently against the glass again, Arthur asked himself what was left if there could not be justice. The answer came readily like a lesson learned since childhood: There was vengeance and there was mercy. And then the solution was obvious. It was as if the fog in Arthur’s head had burned away. If these were his two options then there was only one possible choice- perhaps it had always been the only choice.

“You can have the pardon, Merlin.” Arthur spoke quietly to the window glass, but the sound of Merlin’s chair shifting back implied that he had been heard.

“What?”

Arthur turned from the window to look at Merlin who had stood up and was gazing at him with carefully restrained hope. “I said that you can have your pardon. I’ll have Geoffrey begin work on it immediately.”

“Arthur,” and there was that dopey grin. Arthur felt his eyes prickle and he was about to turn back to the window telling Merlin they should talk later, tomorrow maybe, but Merlin had already started to move towards him. He stopped just a pace from Arthur and still with the absurd smile plastered across his face, Merlin knelt.

“Sire, I swear I-“ But whatever Merlin meant to swear Arthur could not hear it. 

Arthur fought a wave of vertigo. For just a moment as Merlin artlessly came to his knees, Arthur was struck with a sudden and fierce joy. He felt the imminence of something long sought-after. A future that Arthur had only ever glimpsed in fragments rose up whole and complete. Arthur knew exactly what to do. He knew what oaths to give and which to demand. He felt the brotherhood of his knights, the fellowship of his people as a physical force. Camelot was bound to him and he to it. He felt the living pulse of so many people, so many hopes, so many worlds. Everything he could have ever wanted for Camelot, for Albion seemed to coalesce before him into something so beautiful that it made him ache with want. Arthur knew he could make it real. It was so close. The glory of a new world burned through him. If Arthur could just reach for it- just touch it, he knew he could bring it back with him. 

But in the next instant, Arthur remembered all that had just happened. He remembered just how pitifully he had misunderstood or bungled everything he had set his hand to. How easily he had been deceived by those nearest to him. He had been so utterly, stupidly, unforgivably blind to everything around him. There might be a bright and shining future for Camelot just at the limit of a good king’s reach but how could Arthur hope to grasp it. No, the dazzling future, the glory and the joy were gone, bled away to nothing leaving only the ache and the want. 

Now, the idea of Merlin kneeling, offering fealty felt like a sadistic parody. How could it be more than a cruel irony when Merlin had revealed himself to be so powerful and revealed Arthur to be so weak? Arthur could not bear the mockery- not just for himself, though shame churned his insides but because the offer and acceptance of allegiance was a sacred thing. It should not be given lightly or accepted by one who had nothing to give back. So, before Merlin could continue Arthur leaned down, took Merlin by the elbow and brought him to his feet.

Hurt began to fill Merlin’s eyes and Arthur found he did not like it. Arthur was angry with Merlin; angry with the magic, angry with the secrecy, but mostly angry because Merlin had made Arthur feel strong and worthy of respect and then he had taken it away. Despite that Arthur did not want to see Merlin hurt and so he put a hand on the back of Merlin’s neck and drew the wizard against him. 

Merlin’s breath hitched and his arms catapulted around Arthur’s waist squeezing tightly. Arthur stroked the back of Merlin’s neck. His fingers closed around Merlin’s dark hair then let go, only to hold again. The numbness had returned to Arthur but he kept up the gentle pressure of his fingers because it was easy and familiar and he didn’t have to think about it. 

Meanwhile Merlin was speaking but the words were unintelligible, muffled against Arthur’s shirt and skin. Arthur was aware of the pressure of Merlin’s words against his neck and shoulder but he tried to think about them no more than he thought about his hand on Merlin’s nape or the way a tremor would sometimes shake through Merlin’s thin body and the sorcerer would cling to him like Arthur was the only safe thing in the world.

“It’s all right, then?” Merlin asked after untolled minutes. “You’re not . . . angry with me?”

Arthur pushed Merlin away gently. “I am angry but I expect I’ll get over it.”

Even through Merlin’s deep relief he heard just how tired Arthur sounded- tired and defeated. He wanted to question it, wanted to make sure Arthur really was all right, he wanted to convince his master that this was actually a good thing. Not only did Camelot now have the services of a powerful sorcerer but there no longer needed to be any secrets between them. But Merlin was as exhausted as Arthur and he was suddenly overcome with the irrational fear that if he didn’t leave well enough alone right now then Arthur would change his mind and send him away. So, Merlin just reached out to smooth Arthur’s shirt where it had been rumpled (and dampened) from Merlin’s embrace.

“Later we’ll have to talk some more. There is still a lot to be sorted.” Arthur did not acknowledge Merlin’s touch- choosing to be unaware of it. “The council will need to be informed of some things. We’ll have to work out some sort of new position for you.”

“Not necessarily.” Merlin put in, suddenly afraid of losing anything familiar.

“Tomorrow, all right?”

“Yeah, of course. Good night, Sire.” Merlin smiled. Arthur managed a weak smile in return that he held in place by force of will until the chamber door had closed behind Merlin.  
*  
It was not uncommon to see Sir Leon sitting in the Rising Sun tavern of an evening. The knight was in the habit of taking his dinner there most days and then sharing a mug or two of ale with some of his friends. In the last few years Sir Leon was seen at the tavern almost exclusively in the company of several of Camelot’s newer knights- Knights of the Round Table as they were known to those sympathetic to their cause and Rabble Knights as they were known to those who were not. 

This evening the Round Table knights were nowhere in evidence and Sir Leon shared his table with Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere. These three men were not particularly friends- but they were comrades and veteran campaigners. For many years these men had known nothing but service to Camelot and for more years than that they had sought nothing but the same. 

Though, the knights shared a common history and still held common values, their paths had diverged over the last years. Sir Leon went on patrol, oversaw the training of new knights and had become Arthur’s second in command in military matters. Until the dragon attack, most people would have expected Kay rather than Leon to be in this position. Sir Kay, however, had been helping to get some of the less able-bodied townsfolk to the relative safety of the castle when a swish of the Great Dragon’s tail had sent what had been until that moment the herbalist shop crashing down on top of the fleeing group. The man next to Kay was killed instantly and none escaped injury. 

Kay’s leg was crushed and though he survived he would always walk with a severe limp. Forced to acknowledge his fighting days were behind him, Kay busied himself arranging supply lines. He found he had an aptitude for knowing what was needed, where, and how best to get it there. Sir Kay was now seneschal and he was much more valuable to his king and kingdom as an administrator than he had ever been as a fighter. Sir Kay understood this. He was grateful to be useful but though he seemed to have an accountant’s mind he still had a warrior’s heart and he grieved a little every time his King rode off into danger and left him behind.

Sir Bedivere, by contrast, had never thought much of fighting. He was skilled enough to gain his knighthood under the rigorous requirements of Camelot but his heart was given to philosophy. He idolized the Romans and the Greeks. He loved languages and poetry and he had a very developed idea of what civilization meant. Uther had disliked Bedivere and would have happily returned the clever knight to his father except that his father was a powerful lord. So, Uther sent Bedivere across the width and breadth of Albion, delivering messages and negotiating low stakes agreements. After that he sent him across the sea to keep Camelot informed of the goings on in what was once the Great Empire. Bedivere had been pleased enough to go but the moment he learned Arthur was King, Bedivere had rushed home bubbling over with plans and ideas. Bedivere was now one of Arthur’s most trusted advisors and as far as Leon had heard he never missed a council session.

This day Kay, Leon and Bedivere had been drawn together as though by invisible chains. For hours the men talked of old times and old companions. They drank more than one mug to those fallen. They drank to their King and they drank to their late King. As the evening wore on however, their reminiscences took on a forward looking edge.

“The Mercians were always a cunning enemy.” Leon commented. “There were times I thought the war would last forever.”

“I lost two cousins to their treachery.” Bedivere grunted. “Yet I wept when peace was finally made.”

Kay shrugged. He had always considered Bedivere a bit of a weeper, but he did understand the larger sentiment. “I suppose an honorable peace is always a victory. Every ally gained is a step forward.” 

Bedivere nodded solemnly because he was a knight and he knew he was supposed to believe that. He wanted to believe it. 

“So how come this new ally doesn’t feel like victory? How come it feels like we’ve been kicked in the belly?” The words forced themselves out of Leon almost against his will. The soft blur of drunken nostalgia had burned away leaving a jagged, desperate edge.

Kay sucked in his breath and Bedivere’s gaze became sharp and focused because that was indeed the problem. That was the question that had drawn these three men- who were not friends-inexorably together and all the quiet musings and fond remembrances up until now were merely prelude.

The day had been a shock to everyone as the Council and the senior knights had been summoned and informed that Camelot had- for years now- been receiving the protection of a powerful sorcerer as well as a dragonlord. Indeed, Arthur told the assembly, it was the intervention of this dragonlord that had halted the Great Dragon’s destruction of Camelot. The Great Dragon had not been killed, he had merely been sent away and bound by the dragonlord’s command not to return. The King had not revealed the identity of the sorcerer or dragonlord but he did say that the sorcerer was sometimes known among those with magic as Emrys. Leon knew instantly who ‘Emrys’ was because Arthur never so much as looked at Merlin.

Arthur went on to explain to the Court that Gaius had worked magic in protection of Camelot as had Merlin and that while laws had been broken to do this the transgression had been forgiven. It was time to look forward. The laws were changing. All of Albion- the magical and non-magical alike- would now look to Camelot to judge the sincerity of the kingdom’s commitment to treat all people according to the merits of their chosen actions. 

It had been a brave speech and in that moment, hope was high and the mood was triumphant and celebratory. Yet the mood had not lasted for the three knights. Leon was right. There was something wrong in this, something that had set all three men’s teeth on edge and raised the hair at the back of their necks. 

“Our ‘allies’ have hidden themselves from us- deceived us- put us in their debt, whether we would or no.” Kay answered. “It is not easy to reconcile this behavior with an honest offer of friendship.”

“A certain amount of deceit would have been unavoidable given . . . circumstances.” Bedivere spoke carefully. “If Camelot was to be defended with magic, it would have to be done secretly. The old King made that clear enough.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Bedivere. But how can we trust? Did we learn nothing from the Witch?” Leon demanded. Morgana’s betrayal had wounded them all- everyone in Camelot took it personally. The people had welcomed the frightened orphan Uther had brought home. They had cared for her, watched her grow up, admired the confident young woman she was becoming and she had turned on them with indiscriminate viciousness.

Kay and Bedivere were suddenly both staring hard at Leon. “Do you think we should be concerned . . .” Kay began slowly. “I mistrust this situation for many reasons but it seemed to me that- that our new ally was- would be loyal to our King. You would know better than us, Leon, will Mer- will Emrys seek to harm Camelot directly as did the Witch?”

Leon bit his lip. He hadn’t been sure if Kay and Bedivere would have been able to guess that Merlin was the Dragonlord and sorcerer but apparently they had. Leon wondered how many others had also guessed and why Arthur had made such a point of using a pseudonym.

“If you had asked me yesterday, I would have had no doubts about the sorcerer’s loyalty. I would have sworn to anyone who would listen that he was one of the bravest, most devoted men I had ever known. Now I must wonder; if I did not see his magic what else did I not see?”

“Consider carefully, Leon.” Bedivere warned “if you honestly think there is a chance we may have another Morgana on our hands we must do something- even if we hang for it.”

Closing his eyes against the responsibility of such a judgment, Leon thought about Morgana trying to see if he could gain insight into Merlin. Was there a pattern to their behavior? Could Merlin’s future be read in Morgana’s past? Were all sorcerers the same? 

The first thing Leon always remembered about the Morgana Before was how much he had admired her. He might even have been a little in love with her. She had excited him even as she also appalled him. She was beautiful, of course, but she was also fearless. She would often row with Uther, not at all intimidated by a man who many had cause enough to respect and fear. She gave her opinions frankly- even bluntly. She was always ready for a fight and yet at the same time she seemed so coolly above everything. Leon had been in awe.

So many of Morgana’s characteristics had seemed wonderful and exotic to the steady, practical, obedient Leon. Yet, now Leon had to wonder if Morgana’s strong opinions were less about confidence and more about a lack of respect for anyone else’s point of view. She had always been willing to pick a fight but was that only if she knew her opponent would feel obliged to pull his punches. Had her courage been no more than a sense of her own invulnerability as young, beautiful and privileged? Had her compassion been no more than an opportunity to be self-righteous? 

Leon felt there had to be more to Morgana than this but one of the consequences of her betrayal was that everything she had ever said or done had to be looked at now through the lens of her hidden magic, of her secrets and of her lies. Now that the glamour was stripped away from Merlin would Leon be able to tell what sort of man was left? 

Leon had liked Merlin, too. He admired the man’s courage and loyalty. As it turned out, Merlin wasn’t half as brave as Leon thought him. Or, no, the man was brave enough but it was a different kind of courage. It was the sort that understood the danger but was aware of its own power. It was the courage of a soldier or a spy, not the courage of a saint. 

Merlin’s continued survival had felt like evidence that there was truly some protective power in innocence. Now, Leon suspected that Merlin had let knights die rather than save them and thereby risk the exposure of his secrets. Since Arthur always managed to survive with Merlin, Leon wasn’t entirely sure he could blame the sorcerer for his actions or inactions but he was not the man Leon thought he was. 

Both Merlin and Morgana seemed to feel entitled to say whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to whomever they wanted. Both evinced contempt for anyone they considered sycophantic. Morgana had thought sassing Uther was the same thing as speaking truth to power and Merlin had the idea that impertinence was the same thing as honesty. Leon had assumed that the two were indulged because neither one had power of their own. Morgana was allowed her fits of temper because she was a woman and Uther doted on her like a- well, like a daughter. Merlin was allowed liberties because no one took him seriously and he might even have been a little touched. If Leon took a similar tone- not that he ever would- he had no doubt that he would be slapped down hard. That was right and proper. Leon did not resent that or grudge Morgana and Merlin their greater freedom. He had assumed their freedom was in direct proportion to their lack of power. He had been wrong and that cast a different light on Morgana’s snide remarks and Merlin’s banter.

Leon could go on and on comparing Merlin and Morgana and he suspected that such thoughts were likely to plague him often in the days ahead but he wasn’t really making progress. How could he hope to guess if Merlin would be true to Camelot or follow in Morgana’s footsteps? 

Surely, Merlin and Morgana- strange and powerful- had more in common with one another than either could have with any of the folk of Camelot. Yet, Merlin had been happy among them, hadn’t he? Morgana had been triumphant and smug even gleeful but not happy at least not in recent years. Merlin had taken pleasure in others’ success whereas Morgana had reacted with glittering sarcasm and a smile that undermined even as it congratulated. Merlin had risked his life for Arthur- or had he? Leon could not be sure. How much danger could such a powerful sorcerer ever really be in? 

Leon shook his head to try and clear it. It was probably best not to consider the grand gestures- like riding out to face a dragon, a dragon that ultimately was bound to Merlin’s command. Those situations would be the ones that someone who was playacting would focus on. It was the subtle, everyday events that Leon needed to remember. And in those simple, humdrum, workaday times Merlin cared for Arthur. He cared for Camelot. That had to be true. The little things added up; the small acts of consideration and random deeds of thoughtfulness. Someone pretending couldn’t have done those things simply because such acts would never have occurred to someone who was merely playing a part.

“I do not think the sorcerer plans any injury to Arthur or Camelot.” Leon was confident but his words were heavy with the knowledge of the consequence should he be wrong.

“That was my assessment as well.” Bedivere nodded, leaning back with relief. “I suppose we must be grateful for that.”

“We still have to deal with magic.” Kay groused. “You know that won’t be easy. Damn it, I don’t see why we have to be saddled with the stuff. If magic ever did solve a problem, it was a problem magic caused in the first place.”

“The old King had reasons for what he did. My father was with Uther when the Shayla temple was finally defeated. The things they found there, the stories from the nearby villages, my father was rarely able to speak of it. Those people performed all sorts of tortures. They would suppress the will of their victims turning strong men into docile children. It was said that they had found a means of turning suffering into a source of power. Those people, those sorcerers and priestesses, they needed to be put down. It should have happened sooner.” While Kay talked Leon and Bedivere’s faces grew stony. Both knights had heard stories of how things were before the purge. 

Yet, there were tales of benevolent magic as well, good sorcerers that traveled from village to village offering healing, slightly daft but benign hermits who would live in caves but offer great acts of magic to those who sought them. There were even magicians at Court, serving the king and the people with their power. Uther himself had had a court sorceress but- it was said- she betrayed him.

“Not everyone with magic was like that.” Leon spoke. He was uncomfortable defending magic but it was impossible to ignore the fact that the purge had had some unfortunate consequences. Even if one agreed that everyone with magic needed to die as a public health measure- and even Kay was unlikely to go so far- the purge had claimed its share of non-magical victims. 

Malicious rumor and fear had been all that was required to bring dozens of innocent people to the block. “Most folk had nothing more than kitchen magic and could have not caused such evil even if they had wished. And what of the Druids, they are known as healers and teachers. They saved my life.”

“Well, the Druids were greatly humbled by Julius Caesar, and humbled again by King Uther.” Bedivere broke in pedantically. 

“They are no longer the power they used to be- which has had a moderating effect on them- but even so the Druids believe themselves to be keepers of great wisdom and the Guardians of prophecy. They sometimes offer help or healing but for their own reasons and only when it serves some larger purpose. But,” Bedivere shook his head as though to clear it from distraction. He could go on and on about the great Caesars, “there is no point to this argument. The laws that came out of the Purge have had regrettable results- not the least of which is that Camelot has many magical enemies. We would do well to try and keep what magical friends we have. We should try to be grateful, even if the gratitude feels coerced.”

All three men fell silent then, as a barmaid came to their table to refill their mugs. Leon smiled their thanks, and the girl dipped a curtsy in acknowledgment.

“It is frustrating, though.” Bedivere continued after several moments of silence in which the knights sipped their ale. “Most people with sense have understood for a while that the laws relating to magic needed revision but we had hoped to take on other matters first. The current tax system is woefully regressive. Then, Bandits and smugglers- usually from neighboring kingdoms- make life very difficult for many villages near the border. I spent nearly a week with that fellow, Tristan, trying to get any insight I could into how these people operate so that when the issue came up in council we’d have something to go on- but it never came up in council. Do you know what we spent the entire session discussing?”

“What did the council spend the entire session discussing?” Leon asked obediently. Even as Bedivere was complaining, it was easy to see that politics exhilarated him, that he was as eager to take on the problems of state as a warrior was for battle.

“Love charms!”

“Isn’t that sort of thing a bit beneath the council’s dignity?” Kay asked, amused.

“That was the general opinion until it was pointed out that it is at the heart of a government’s responsibility to protect from violation and degradation those unable to protect themselves. Magic of this kind could make anyone helpless to another’s predatory desires.” Bedivere explained with a sigh.

“So what conclusion did the council reach?” Leon was curious.

“That it is forbidden to compel, threaten to compel or attempt to compel physical congress or the heart’s affection. It took all day.”

“Why? That seems more than reasonable.” Kay’s eyebrows had gone up and he was regarding Bedivere with incredulity. “No doubt love charms will always have an appeal to some but they are clearly an abuse whatever one thinks of magic more generally”

“Just so. And the council was pleased enough to outlaw any potion, charm or spell that would compel their own wives or daughters to happily- gratefully- spread their legs for some stranger. Or some enemy.”

“Or some friend.” Leon added struck by the horror of it.

“So what was the problem?” Kay had become grim. There was something deeply sinister about love spells. It was easier to pretend they didn’t really work that it was all just silly calf-eyed girls and wishful thinking. Kay supposed, though, if he were truly forced to think about it then the reality of a love spell would be deplorable. 

“You will note that there was no requirement that the compulsion, threat or attempt be of a magical nature. There were several who feared the law would become overbroad in its application.” Bedivere answered.

“Oh. So we are taking that on, are we?” Kay did not look displeased.

“No choice. If it is forbidden to do something by magical means then it must be forbidden to do it by mundane means and vice versa. That’s rather the point.”

“But this is a good thing?” Leon asked. He could understand that Bedivere would feel like they were fighting on too many fronts, but surely such laws had to be written. There were, of course, already laws against rape but Leon could see that this new law could indeed be used to punish behavior that was sometimes overlooked in some lords’ holdings.

“Yes, but there is so much to be done and none of it is going to be easy.” Bedivere pounded a fist on the table in exasperation. “Even those who agree there ought to be a thorough reform- not just of the laws on magic but of the laws generally as well as the knight’s code- believe it is too much change, too fast. We could have used a few years to build roads, accumulate a grain surplus, stop the bandit threat at the source, recruit craftsmen and scholars from all across Albion and beyond, check on the situation with the Saxons and Jutes in the Southern kingdoms. Instead of that, though, we are trying to convince our people that magic is fine now and they have no cause to fear- except too damn many of them know too damn well what there is to fear. More than that, we’ve decided that not only is magic welcome we want to write one law meant to apply to everyone not only those with magic and those without but also to nobles and commoners, rich and poor- even though no kingdom of which we are aware has ever successfully created such a system.” 

“No one is happy about any of this. The nobles are upset because they are accustomed to behaving mostly as they please and they don’t want to stop. The knights don’t like it because they think if peasants are allowed to be knights then their own knighthoods will lose value and if sorcerers are allowed to become knights then they won’t be able to compete at all. The merchants are surly because they don’t really care about magic or the sorts of things nobles are currently allowed to get up to, they think we should be focused on trade and rebuilding infrastructure. The guilds feel threatened because they are corrupt as hell and they’re worried that if the idea of reform gains traction then they’re next. Our neighbors don’t like it because they think we are strong enough without magic and that with magic we would be unstoppable (which is frankly flattering). The people don’t like it because they don’t want to make it any easier for some sorcerer with a bit of power and a sense of grievance to come along and wreak havoc on their lives.”

“It’s all just a wretched tangle. The fact that now we learn that there has been a sorcerer in our midst for years, close to the King, turning back the occasional magical invasion and getting up to the gods know what else the rest of the time- it’s just too much.” As Bedivere finished, he slumped back into his chair as though all his passion had been wrung from him.

“It can be done? It’s worth it?” Leon was half asking and half telling. The blond knight was struggling to understand what was at stake. It was difficult because while Leon had been convinced that magic was an inescapable part of the world yet he felt a still, cold fear at the very mention of magic. As much as Leon honored and respected Percival, Elyan and even Gawain, it was still hard for him to accept the idea that just anyone should be allowed the opportunity to be a knight. 

Even with these fears and prejudices within him, Leon still had faith that changing the law was right. He had to believe that if you treated others with dignity and respect then you would not be harmed by it. Part of his faith came from meeting people like Percival and Elyan who were not only capable fighters but gentle and noble hearted. Part of it was at the core of the Knight’s Code which claimed a true knight must always act with honor, decency and chivalry even if that meant losing. And Part of Leon’s faith came from his trust in Arthur. 

Leon knew Arthur was struggling with these issues just as hard as Leon himself but the King was still resolutely moving forward. Somehow, Arthur always ended up giving people second chances. The idea that a person, that a people could try again resonated strongly in Leon’s heart. “If the law can be changed and accepted, if the power of magic can be made to serve a good purpose, if a generation can grow up without seeing magic as either a threat or a means to usurp power then we must accept the risk.” 

Bedivere managed to straighten up a bit as he nodded his acceptance of this. For a time the men drifted in their own thoughts.

“I do not envy you, Bedivere.” Kay finally broke the silence with an attempted jocular tone. “This is what comes of your love of philosophy, for now you must think, grapple with hard questions and struggle with unsolvable puzzles. Leon and I are the lucky ones. We need think no further than our next order.”

Leon smiled but Bedivere was overcome by sudden melancholy. “Aye, as long as you are certain the man giving you your orders is truly Arthur.”

“Oh, God.” Leon moaned folding his arms on the table and burying his face, not caring as spilled ale soaked his sleeves. A wave of despair crashed over the knight laying waste to the carefully constructed optimism he had slowly built over the course of the evening. Magic had the power to make Arthur not-Arthur. Leon remembered how Uther had seemed to go mad; he remembered what Kay had said about how the sorcerers of the Shayla Temple had taken over the wills of their victims. He remembered stories he had heard as a child of sorcerers that could take on the shape and appearance of anything they wanted. How could there be any honor, how could there be any trust when such things existed in the world?

“Hey!” Kay punched Leon hard in the arm. “Straighten up, man.”

Leon lifted his head just enough to regard Kay blearily. Kay was Leon’s age or even a little younger but his hair had gone completely grey. The man had a fleshy face that wore a perpetual scowl. Looking into Kay’s eyes Leon was reminded again that he didn’t particularly like Kay. Even so, Leon pushed himself upward and straightened his back.

“When Arthur is Arthur, when the King knows himself then we will know.” Kay said this staring hard into Leon’s eyes as though he were trying to push his own conviction into the other man.

“A toast, then.” Bedivere announced breaking the connection between Kay and Leon and getting to his feet. “To new allies! To Sorcerers and to Dragonlords; to the priestesses of the old gods and to the priests of the new god and to the men and women who will have no truck with either; to Mercia and to Esectia; to Rheged and Dumnonia and to all the Kingdoms of Albion-“

“The world, why not?” Kay interjected.

“To all the kingdoms of the world;” Bedivere amended graciously. “To the high-born and to the low-born; to all new allies who would come to Camelot in good faith and in pursuit of peace and justice-“

“And truth!” Leon demanded.

“And truth” Bedivere nodded acceptance and paused. “And love. Together, may we all find what we are seeking!”

Leon was just on the wrong side of drunk, his bladder was overfull and his head hurt. Still he struggled to his feet and held out a steadying arm to Kay when it seemed as though the maimed man could not find his balance. He hit his mug against those of his companions and brought his cup to his lips. As Leon drank down swallow after swallow of warm ale, he thought to himself: ‘To Arthur and the Round Table.”  
*  
The ground was rocky and as they were in no particular hurry Arthur, Merlin and the seven knights accompanying them had decided to walk their horses for the last few hours of the day before making camp. They were too few to be much of a royal procession but they were more than a patrol- though they hoped to accomplish something of both tasks. 

Arthur had wanted the opportunity for a while to see his people, to tell them of the new laws and the changes that were afoot. He wanted to garner support for his new ideas or at least forestall dissent. He also wanted to make sure that the villages and holdings that had been affected by Morgana were well on the way to recovery. He wanted to make sure everything was all right and hear his people’s concerns. Their King’s presence would be a great reassurance to the people but Merlin knew that Arthur needed the reassurance of the safety and wellbeing of his people just as much. Later in the season Arthur planned to take a longer tour of the Kingdom with Guinevere. Arthur had been almost childishly excited at the prospect of showing the people their new queen.

Merlin thought his revelation might have caused the trip to be postponed or worse that Arthur might try to leave him behind but the group had left together exactly as planned. The journey thus far had been tense and- despite efforts mostly from Gawain and a few of the younger knights- mostly silent. Merlin felt the weight of his own unhappiness burden his footsteps and quiet his usual chatter. 

Arthur had been no more than stiffly polite to any of them and his mood permeated their small group. Arthur behaved as though he had woken up surrounded by strangers in place of the people he had always known and that he was now doing his best to navigate alone in an alien world. It would have been a torture to Merlin at any time to see Arthur so cautious and confused but he was particularly miserable now knowing himself to be the cause of much of the king’s anxious humor. 

The six days since Merlin had revealed his secret had seemed to disappear in a whirlwind. He had managed to convince Arthur not to reveal him as a dragonlord or as the very powerful guardian sorcerer. He had argued that keeping his identity secret would be a strategic advantage. This was true but Merlin had mostly been reluctant to reveal the extent of his magical power for a different reason. He had spent nearly his whole life hiding the magical part of himself, now that he was finally able to acknowledge his power he was suddenly afraid that that power would become the only thing anyone knew or cared about. Perhaps there was also some part of him that could not give up secrecy entirely. 

Somewhat to Merlin’s surprise Arthur had acquiesced without much argument. People might guess of course, but there were so many rumors and outrageous theories that Merlin felt reasonably sure that the extent of his magic power would not become generally known.

For years Merlin had wondered how those he knew would react to his secret. He had imagined wholehearted acceptance and outright rejection and everything in between. Now, he found himself a little underwhelmed. Merlin had only had a little more than a day to gauge people’s reaction before he had left with Arthur and the other knights for this journey but in that scant time most people were more concerned with gossiping about the dragonlord and Emrys to worry about him. 

Indeed, as far as Merlin could tell nearly the whole of Camelot took it in stride that Gaius had continued to use sorcery after the purge. The idea that Merlin as Gaius’s apprentice would also have some magic appeared to be acceptable to most folk. Apparently the people of Camelot were predominantly in sync with Arthur’s own assumptions on that score. No one seemed surprised or terribly upset by Uther’s hypocrisy. Merlin could only shake his head. It ought to have been a scandal that the man who had ordered the execution of simple villagers for using magic to light a hearth fire would countenance the use of more powerful magic when it served his purposes and yet there was no outrage. It wasn’t even that the people forgave Uther; they just accepted the double-standard.

As for those who Merlin considered his closest friends, he mostly had cause to be grateful: Gawain had come up to him and clapped him on the back, hugged him and then clapped him on the back harder, all the while telling him that Merlin’s magic didn’t change anything, that it didn’t matter and that the two were still the best of friends. 

Merlin had been relieved as he returned Gawain’s embrace. He was all the more appreciative of Gawain’s support as Gawain was one of the people most likely to guess that Merlin had had a greater part in past events then that of Gaius’s apprentice. Yet, as Gawain continued to pummel him with affection Merlin was struck by the idea that his magic did matter and it did change things. Merlin hoped that when Gawain came to realize that he would continue to be as accepting. 

Percival and Elyan were more cautious than Gawain, but they both seemed willing to offer support. The situation was different with Leon. Merlin quickly realized that whatever rapport he had gained with Arthur’s First Knight was lost. Leon now treated Merlin the same way he treated foreign lords who visited Camelot: He was respectful but vigilant. Merlin knew he should be sad about that. He thought that in time he would be and then he would try to mend fences with Leon. As it was he found he couldn’t care very much. Leon wasn’t important right now. 

For the rest of Arthur’s knights, Merlin felt their sudden awareness of him as prickling against his back and shoulders. Their attention did not seem malicious or fearful but they were all aware of him in a way they had never been before. Merlin might have supposed he would have liked that; to be taken seriously by men who had before only ever looked on him with a benevolent or haughty indifference. But, he did not. Their scrutiny made him itch and a part of him wanted to be invisible again.

After Arthur, Merlin had been most worried about Guinevere’s reaction. Merlin had never been at odds with Gwen and he didn’t want to be- especially not when his relationship with Arthur felt so fragile. Guinevere had been so badly hurt by Morgana’s betrayal. Morgana had ended up hating Gwen with a passion that was both devastating and inexplicable to the former servant. Merlin feared that Gwen would only be able to see his secret in the light of Morgana’s. 

When the Queen found him he had been packing fresh herbs for the journey. Merlin had not exactly been hiding from Gwen but he had made it easy for her to avoid him if that was what she wanted. But the Queen had sought him out. As she came toward him her expression seemed stern and sad. Merlin’s spirit wilted before her but he mustered his courage and stood his ground, ready to accept angry words, tears or quiet disappointment. 

It came as a shock then, when Gwen, eyes still solemn, put her arms about him and hugged him tightly. Gwen was warm against him. It took Merlin a moment to return the embrace but when he did so he clung fiercely. Without stepping back, Gwen took Merlin’s head in her hands and drew him down to her height so their foreheads touched. She looked up into his eyes as she said, “I forgive you, Merlin.”

“I forgive you because you were afraid and I know what that’s like. I know how fear can crawl inside you and become a part of everything you do, everything you think until you don’t even realize it’s there anymore. And I forgive you because what you did was for Arthur.”

“I never meant to hurt anyone.” Merlin pleaded softly moving his head to rest on Gwen’s shoulder. 

“I know.” Gwen assured, smiling as Merlin had to bend awkwardly to reach her shoulder. 

After a while, the two sat down together and talked a long time. Arthur had told Gwen- in a steady emotionless voice- the general overview of Merlin’s magical escapades. Gwen had a few questions- mostly about Morgana, but the talk soon turned to Arthur. 

Merlin wasn’t sure he was ready to really think about all that had been said but he had come away from the discussion as he always did after talking to Gwen in a crisis- with a deep respect for the new Queen’s gentleness and wisdom. She had been the one to reassure him that Arthur would become comfortable with him again. According to Gwen, Arthur wasn’t so much angry as confused and hurt. Things would be better once he had time to sort things out in his own mind. Gwen had not used the word ‘destiny’ but Merlin could see that she understood the strength and importance of Arthur and Merlin’s relationship. 

Merlin tried to recapture some of the feeling of Gwen’s reassurance now but it was difficult to be optimistic. Arthur seemed to have retreated almost completely within himself. This was especially disheartening because for a brief time Merlin had believed that Arthur was regaining his usual manner and approach to the world: 

As soon as the procession had come to the first town in which they had planned to stop, Arthur had seemed to come alive. Gone were the short careful replies and watchful silences. Arthur spoke with the town elders. He sat in judgment over several longstanding disputes among the town residents. He walked among all the people of that town and surrounding villages, asking questions, letting them demonstrate their skills or speak their concerns. 

He even talked of magic, urging everyone who had gathered for his visit to welcome those with magic back into their community, to be trustworthy themselves and give others the opportunity to be trustworthy in return. Merlin was greatly moved at such words but his pleasure was turned back on itself as Arthur’s gaze passed over Merlin as though he didn’t recognize him. Arthur even managed to smile a few times during the feast the town held and which the knights supplied with fresh game. Despite all this as soon as the procession was traveling again Arthur returned to being stonily uncommunicative. Merlin reaffirmed his resolve to be patient.  
*


	2. Chapter 2

A few yards ahead of Merlin, Arthur walked beside Hengroen, his jaw clenched tight. Cabal trailed at his heels keeping well away from the horse’s hooves. Arthur was aware that his mood was affecting his companions- even the animals were restive but he didn’t know how to lessen the tension. He was overwhelmed by thoughts and emotions. He could not seem to filter any sensation from beating into his attention. Every noise grated on Arthur’s ears, the sun was too bright and even the breeze stirring in the trees set his nerves jangling. 

Arthur desperately wanted silence. He needed to find a quiet place where he could be still and try to regain some sense of equilibrium. His goal was to keep a rein on his temper until they made camp. His reserves of stamina were taxed nearly beyond endurance but if he could just hold on a little longer he might be able to get through this wretched day. It was no solace that this wretched day had turned out nearly exactly the same as wretched yesterday and that change seemed unlikely for wretched tomorrow. He tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Maybe if he could focus entirely on the rhythmic pace of his footsteps then he could block out all the distractions that besieged his senses. It would only be a few more hours.

“I just don’t understand how anyone can care whether property lines are drawn to the nearest quarter acre or according to what was ploughed.” Gawain was talking to Elyan- reliving the nearly three-hour discussion to which they had been forced to bear witness at their latest visit.

“Did it ever make more than a few feet of difference in any case?” Elyan replied. 

“And there was no shortage of fertile land. You could draw property lines blindfolded and there still would have been more than enough for everyone.”

“And it wasn’t just how to determine boundaries; what happens if wild game is wounded on one person’s land but dies on his neighbor’s? If livestock roam to another’s field is there a duty to return it? If a stream runs through two or more people’s land what obligations do the neighbors have to one another? It was all so mercilessly boring.” Elyan waved his arms in tribute to the enormity of his boredom.

“That has got to be the worst part of being a knight,” Gawain agreed, “I don’t mind patrol, and you can never go wrong with a good fight, but being expected to sit down and pretend like these endless, endless meetings are anything but brain-meltingly dull is too much to ask. It’s hard to believe how people can talk for so long about such petty-“

“Really?” Arthur demanded, turning violently to face his two knights. Anger was burning so cold inside him that he was nearly shivering with it. “Those things are the worst parts of being a knight? Really? Because a few things occur to me that just might possibly be considered worse! I would have thought we’d get pretty far down the list before we came to ‘insufficient entertainment’.” 

Arthur knew he was being too harsh even as he spat the last sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to stop or take any of it back, though. Arthur wasn’t about to standby and listen to anyone gripe that peace just wasn’t very exciting- not when it was still so very fragile, not when it had cost so much. Not when Arthur would have done anything to have just a little peace inside his own head.

“Maybe your lives are so filled with romance and derring-do that you never need to bother about anything less than life or death. Fine. Good for you. But these matters are not trivial to those villagers and it’s our job to help them with what is important to them. Even if the only help we can give is to let them know we take them seriously. If we’re not willing to do that- if we’re going to begrudge them such a little thing- then what’s the point? What purpose do we serve?” Arthur breathed in sharply, questions about his own purpose, his own value had been constant in his mind since Merlin had explained just how little all his efforts had meant to anything the last few years. 

“Has it occurred to either of you that it is going to be the long boring meetings that just keep going until everyone has had their say and it’s going to be the dull decisions that are debated and chosen before matters come to a crisis that are going to be the things that matter most in the end? Obviously not. Because, if it had occurred to you then I wouldn’t have to tell you to shut up! But unfortunately that’s not the case. So, shut up!” 

Elyan’s eyes were as wide as saucers and Gawain was staring at Arthur with his mouth open unable to find words. It might have been an amusing picture except Arthur hadn’t been amused for days. The others present were having similar reactions of surprise or distress. Sir Lionel, the youngest knight in their company, appeared to be near tears. Leon stood stiffly at attention and fixed his gaze straight ahead as though he were the one being yelled at. Arthur did not look for Merlin.

“Sire- We apologize.” Elyan managed to find his voice and his still wide-eyes were gazing at Arthur with unfeigned contrition. “It was not our intention to speak disparagingly of the people we serve. We shall consider our words more carefully in the future.”

Arthur jerked his head in a nod of acknowledgement. He knew that neither Elyan nor Gawain had meant to do anything more than engage in a bit of good-natured complaining just to pass the time. Much of his anger had already drained away and Elyan’s apology washed away the dregs. There was a lesson in that probably- but Arthur wasn’t in the mood. 

Now that he had had his tirade, Arthur did actually feel a bit better. Even so, he wished he had not lost his temper. He needed control. Showing any sort of vulnerability, even the weakness of a short temper felt incredibly dangerous right now.

“We should reach the Rhunedd River in a few miles. As soon as we do we’ll make camp.” Arthur announced, ostensibly to Leon but really to the entire group before leading Hengroen forward at a quick pace.

Several hours later, Arthur was gazing out over the rushing water of the Rhunedd as camp was being set up nearby. Cabal had briefly tried to convince him to throw a stick for her but when he resisted she quickly gave up and settled down next to him. She had had a long day as well. Almost without noticing what he was doing Arthur started scratching the dog’s head. From there it was a natural progression to giving Cabal’s ears a few gentle tugs and once he had done that there wasn’t really another option but to let his knuckles rub up and down into the dog’s thick neck fur.

“You’re not actually a bad dog, as these things go.” Cabal thumped her tail. “Guinevere likes you so I suppose it’s all right if you’re allowed to spend more time in the castle.”

“You’ll have to be on your best behavior, though. There’s to be no silliness. I take a dim view of frolic. Mind you keep any cavorting to a minimum and tomfoolery is not permitted under any circumstances.” Arthur warned as the suggestion of a smile began to form around his lips

“There is one question, though.” Arthur’s tone had become grave and he had maneuvered the dog so that he could look her in the eyes. “Think carefully before you answer: Are you a magic dog, Cabal?”

“It’s all right if you are because it’s a new day and all that.” Arthur admitted grudgingly, “But tell me now.”

“I’m not magic, Arthur.” The King answered for the dog as canine eyes gazed at him innocently. “Not even a little bit.”

“No supernatural or mystical association of any kind?” Arthur probed, wise to potential loopholes.

“No, Arthur, I’m just a dog.” The king interpreted.

“Well, that’s that, then.” Arthur resumed his part of the conversation. “When we get back home, we’ll see about getting you a proper collar. You’ll need to make sure you keep an eye on Gwen, hmm? She’s too used to going about without even thinking of an escort. You need to be there if she takes it into her head to go wandering on her own. I can count on you?”

“Talking to animals usually isn’t a good sign, Sire.” Gawain grinned as he sauntered up to Arthur. 

Arthur suppressed a sigh and pushed Cabal away. She responded by going over to Gawain and giving the knight a good sniff before trotting off to chase the insects that were just starting to emerge in the early evening. Arthur reflexively worried how much of his conversation with Cabal Gawain had overheard before deciding he honestly didn’t care.

“Is there something I can do for you, Sir Gawain?” Arthur inquired without bothering to turn away from his view of the river.

“Since you ask.” Gawain replied, all teeth and hair, but then he sobered. “You know neither Elyan nor I were trying make fun of anyone and we both take our responsibilities seriously?”

“I know.”

“Right, good. You know you were a bit sharpish back there.” Gawain continued.

Arthur turned to face Gawain so that the knight could watch him raise his eyebrows in a gesture that he intended to be translated as ‘yeah, so?’

Gawain shrugged and decided not to pursue it.

“Was that all, then, Gawain?” Arthur asked turning back to the river.

“As it happens,” Gawain answered all smiles again as he came up to the log Arthur was resting his back against and sat down beside the King. Arthur tensed. The closeness was unwelcome. Arthur considered moving but decided he was probably better off just enduring it. If Gawain touched him, though, then Gawain was going to get a fist in the jaw and that was all there was to it. “I’d like to say something about Merlin.”

“Well, you’re a brave man Gawain; you can say it to his face.”

Gawain laughed briefly to acknowledge the somewhat feeble attempt at humor but then turned serious. “You should forgive Merlin, Sire, or let it go, or be grateful, or punish him and then forgive him but you shouldn’t be angry with him- not like this.”

Arthur was on the point of telling Gawain that matters had come to a pretty pass indeed if he needed Gawain’s advice but he stopped. He stopped and looked at Gawain- really looked at him with his ridiculous hair, his mocking grin and his soft eyes.

When Arthur had first met Gawain the man had saved his life. That tended to endear a person. Still, despite his obvious fighting skill, Gawain was hot-headed, undisciplined and reckless. He was the sort of man who would risk his life on a dare or undertake a dangerous quest with someone he barely knew for something he didn’t particularly care about. Gawain was always looking for trouble and not because he felt he had something to prove- the man did not lack for confidence- but because he had nothing better to do. To Arthur, Gawain was a talented man who drifted through the world without discipline, without purpose and without any genuine satisfaction in his drifting. Arthur had not expected to see him again.

He had seen him again, though, and then again. In later encounters Arthur would come to see that Gawain had some sort of chip on his shoulder about the nobility. Arthur supposed he could understand that, but Gawain had not taken the injustice of the world as a rallying cry for change. He had taken it as permission to mouth off and drink himself into oblivion. Arthur wasn’t sure Gawain had it in him to live up to his obvious potential. He was still somewhat uncertain of Gawain when he had knighted him but he had done so because in that moment Arthur would not begrudge honor to any skilled fighter willing to risk his life for Camelot. When the fight ended, Arthur had not been sure Gawain would stay. 

But Gawain had stayed. Not only had he stayed but he fulfilled the duties and responsibilities of a knight. He trained with the other knights- even when training was scheduled during his hangovers. He went on patrol. He rarely quarreled with knights of nobility-even though some of them resented him and his cohort. He still drank but not as much as he boasted. He flirted outrageously but Arthur had never heard so much as a whisper that Gawain had trouble hearing ‘no’. Gawain had even cut back on the cheek, for which Arthur was particularly grateful. The King had enough trouble convincing his councilors that commoners deserved equal treatment without the commoners that had been raised most high going about behaving like a bunch of ill-mannered oafs.

So either Gawain had changed or Arthur’s initial assessment of him had been wrong. In either case, Gawain was a good knight, a loyal and honorable man, who was expressing concern for his friend. Arthur would try to be a little patient even though hard, cruel, protective scorn came as readily to his tongue as his sword hilt came to his hand. 

“I appreciate that you want to defend your friend.”

Gawain waited for the rest of it but Arthur had apparently said all that he meant to. Gawain blinked. He had expected something more along the lines of ‘it’s none of your damn business.’ He had had an answer for that but now he was at a loss. 

He found he wanted to be angry and insist that Merlin was his best friend, selfless and loyal and nothing else could be more important than that. Arthur was being unreasonable and unfair. So what if Merlin had magic? Merlin would never use it to hurt people. Merlin could never do anything truly wrong. Yet, there was a creeping dread inside Gawain. A dread that warned him that if the knight wanted to keep his blind faith then he had better be ready to close his eyes.

“Arthur, Merlin is a good man. He is the very best of men. I’m sure that whatever he’s done, he was just trying to do the right thing.” It was almost a plea. Gawain was suddenly desperate for Arthur to believe it. 

When Gawain had first learned, along with everyone else, that Merlin had been using magic with Gaius to help protect Camelot Gawain had been immensely proud of his friend. He had taken the earliest opportunity to congratulate him. As he saw that Merlin appeared anxious, Gawain had done his best to reassure him that everything was fine, that nothing had changed and that no one with any sense would see him differently. Even as he’d said it though Gawain had known Arthur was likely to sulk for a little bit. 

In some ways Arthur was very hard on the people around him. He could be demanding, insensitive, stubborn and impossible to please. This was especially trying as Arthur could make a person want to please him. With Arthur, Gawain had been made to train and work harder and longer than at any other time in his life. Arthur would push until he found a person’s limit. He had this way of looking at someone as though he knew what that person was capable of and he knew what that person had accomplished and he couldn’t understand why the two weren’t always the same. 

In other ways, though, Arthur was remarkably lenient with Merlin and the knights- giving them latitude to be themselves and discover their own talents. He trusted the people around him and he expected to be trusted in return. It would drive him a bit mad to learn that Merlin had been hiding his magic from him. Even so, Gawain had expected Arthur to forgive Merlin fairly quickly. It had not yet been a full week but Gawain was already beginning to suspect that there was more wrong between Arthur and Merlin than he understood.

“That’s all any of us ever want to do.” Arthur sighed and Gawain knew that Arthur wasn’t even really talking to him anymore. He had finished with Gawain and now he was just waiting for the knight to go away. Gawain found that the dismissal hurt- rather a lot- certainly more than he would ever willingly acknowledge. Forcing a smile, Gawain pushed himself to his feet.

“Well, I can see you’re eager to return to your conversation with the dog. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

There was an obvious opportunity for Arthur to reply with some comment that Cabal was the more interesting conversationalist but he didn’t bother. “Good night, Gawain.”

“Good night, Sire.” The sound of the knight’s retreating footsteps disappeared almost immediately beneath the sound of the river and Arthur let his eyes drift shut.

“Sire?”

Arthur jerked back into consciousness as Leon moved a little closer to call him again.

“Yes?”

“I thought you might want something to eat.” Leon’s smile was strained but genuine as he offered Arthur a plate of bread and cheese. There was some sort of green garnish too. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Leon to question the presence of the green thing but Leon merely shrugged.

The sky had darkened and Arthur could see the fire that had been set up for their camp. Before, Merlin would have been the one to bring him his dinner or to call him back to camp. It was a relief to see Leon instead. Arthur didn’t want to see Merlin. Or rather, he did. He missed him. He was lonely for him. But that Merlin, Arthur’s Merlin hadn’t been real. 

Arthur was struggling to come to some sort of understanding with the new Merlin- the actual Merlin. He was striving for something civil yet still informal. He wanted Merlin to feel like a respected and (not even a little bit ironically) trusted advisor, someone like Geoffrey or maybe more like Gaius. That’s what made sense. 

After all, Merlin had a firsthand understanding of magic that would be a valuable perspective to the non-magic court and he had shown himself to be loyal- for a certain understanding of the term. And Arthur did actually trust him, though not as he had before. That sort of trust had been foolish and self-indulgent. It was so clear now that offering that kind of trust was just an irresistible invitation to take advantage. Arthur should have known better. He had no one to blame but himself. Uther would have been disappointed in him. Morgana would have laughed at him.

While Arthur was convinced that civil but casual was the direction he and Merlin ought to be heading Merlin preferred to continue the servant charade. Arthur could not find it in himself to press the issue, though. If continuing to play his game helped Merlin with the transition to openly using magic then what harm was really done. Arthur supposed that he ought to be glad that at least this time he was more or less in on the joke. Still, the constant reminder of their former intimacy was, well… Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but he didn’t like it.

“Camp is set. I have assigned the watch for the night.” Leon reported.

“Good.” Arthur was only half-listening.

Leon hesitated but Arthur told him good night before Leon was able to decide what he wanted to say. Reluctantly, Leon accepted the dismissal and wishing his king a good night in return he walked the short distance back to camp.

Arthur knew Leon would have been happier if he had gone back to camp with him. He had considered doing so. There was no reason for Arthur to deny himself the heat and light of the fire. Yet, somehow he feared that the closeness of so many people while he slept would smother him. Usually Arthur liked camping with his knights. He liked listening to the soft sounds of his comrades all around. He found it reassuring. Right now, though, Arthur knew it would drive him mad.

Leon was now far enough away that Arthur was able to offer the plate of food he had left to Cabal without fear that the knight would notice. He appreciated the gesture but Arthur wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t actually been hungry for a week. He had tried to eat as much as usual, though. Arthur would have to hear about it from Gwen and who knew how many others from Merlin to the knights to Gaius to Cook herself if they noticed him missing meals. And they would notice. 

Arthur was accustomed to being watched, to having all his little habits and peculiarities noted, observed, commented on, gossiped about. Arthur knew that if anything were to happen to him it would be trouble for everyone around him, trouble for all Camelot so of course they watched. In truth, Arthur didn’t even mind that much. He knew that even as people watched and judged and expected people also genuinely cared about him- even loved him. It was there in the thousand little ways his needs were anticipated and his preferences accommodated without any expectation of reward or credit. It was in the smiles, too quick to be feigned, that he saw as he walked through the castle, the town, the kingdom. The solicitude the people of Camelot showed him mirrored the care he felt for them. It was a metaphor that Uther had discouraged because of its magical associations but Arthur truly did feel married to the people, to the land.

But it had all gone wrong. 

The concern of the people around him no longer felt like a mutual expression of loving care. It felt intrusive, oppressive even violative. Arthur would do anything for Camelot, give anything and yet that was not enough to be granted the simple privilege of not eating when he wasn’t hungry! Was he so stupid that they wouldn’t even trust him to feed himself! Did he deserve their contempt and lack of faith for his past failures? For letting them believe he might be something he wasn’t?

Arthur choked; rage and shame closed his throat. He coughed violently for nearly a minute before he could breathe easily again. Cabal had come up, abandoning her meal to butt her head against Arthur’s thigh and whine softly. Arthur patted her apologetically. He hated being like this, feeling such crushing helplessness. He knew he needed to overcome it. 

Arthur was King. People relied on him and he wanted it that way. He wanted to be and to do what no one else could. He needed to believe that that there was some quality he possessed; some deed of which he was capable that was unique. He knew in his heart that it was right that he should be King; that it was necessary. But Arthur had held too many false truths in his heart to let that be convincing. He needed an answer that was based on more than faith and intuition. 

Too many times he had let Merlin soothe his fears and insecurities. Too many times he had accepted the seeming wisdom of a seeming friend. He had to start again. He had to ask himself: what do I have to offer? Every time he tried to concentrate on that question, though, he was overcome by hurt and anger. To move beyond the hurt and anger he needed to figure out how to become a good king but he couldn’t figure out how to become a good king while he was still in thrall to his overwhelming sense of failure and incompetence. It was a circle that he chased round and round before finally succumbing to exhaustion.

When Arthur next returned to awareness, it was to someone calling his name. For a moment Arthur thought Leon had returned but then he opened his eyes and became aware of four women seated around him. Arthur blinked a few times and then decided he was dreaming as he took in the fact that his head now appeared to be resting comfortably in his wife’s lap. 

Lying beside Arthur, her shoulder touching his was Morgana. Arthur was now certain he was dreaming because Morgana’s presence neither surprised nor alarmed him. Igraine was sitting beside Guinevere. She had taken Cabal into her arms and was cuddling the dog. Her face was in profile and though she smiled she did not turn to face him. The fourth woman sat a small distance from Arthur and she stared at him with penetrating blue eyes. Arthur had never seen her before yet he knew who she was.

“You’re Merlin’s friend. You’re Freya, the Druid girl, who became the Woman in the Water.” Arthur announced slightly confused to recognize someone he did not know.

“I am the Lady of the Lake.” The Lady of the Lake corrected. Her frown suggested that she half believed that Arthur had deliberately misremembered her appellation but she wasn’t quite certain enough to call him on it. Arthur suppressed the urge to grin at her.

“Did Merlin send you? Because if this is the latest version of his ‘Why don’t you go ahead and believe you’re up to this challenge even though you don’t have the vaguest notion of what is really going on. Meanwhile, I’ll get everything magically sorted and then keep a straight face as you imagine you had some part in it.’ speeches, then I would just as soon give it a miss.”

The Lady of the Lake raised her eyebrow at him. “Merlin did not send us, but we are here to offer what solace we may.”

“This is just an ordinary dream, then?” Arthur questioned, wondering a bit about his subconscious. Guinevere was always a source of support and he could understand why he might want his mother’s presence. Yet even Before, Morgana had not been a person he would have ever gone to for comfort. And as for the Lady of the Lake, well, that didn’t make a bit of sense.

“We are not an ordinary dream, Arthur.”

“Then what magic has brought you here and for what purpose?” It occurred to Arthur that he ought to get up, but his body was still blanketed in a dreamy lassitude and the will to move ebbed away.

“No magic brought us here. We are always with you.” The Lady of the Lake claimed a little implausibly. Arthur gazed at her with the skepticism such a comment deserved. 

“You carry us with you, Arthur, all of us. Even those of us who are gone.” Here she indicated Igraine who still would not turn her face. “Even those of us who are lost.” Arthur turned to look at Morgana at that. She turned too, and met his eyes. There was no paint on her lips or around her eyes and she seemed very young. 

As Arthur gazed into Morgana’s eyes, Guinevere reached over to stroke Morgana’s hair. Morgana closed her eyes and seemed to lean into Gwen’s touch. Arthur felt a pricking behind his eyes and he quickly looked away. It was easy to forget how close Morgana and Gwen had been, how deep their friendship. The unfairness that so much that was good and beautiful had been sacrificed to deception struck at him anew.

“I am not magic.” Arthur asserted. “If there is anything more to you than dream then it has nothing to do with me.”

“You are not magic.” The Lady of the Lake confirmed. “Yet you were born of magic. It surrounds you. It protects you. You wield a weapon of the greatest magical power. Magic is always with you, Arthur, though you cannot use it directly. Magic is not within you, yet it serves you faithfully.”

“I don’t understand you, Lady of the Lake.” Arthur sounded weary. “I don’t understand magic. I can’t control it and I have no defense against it.”

“You are wrong.”

“Well, that’s certainly plausible.” Arthur’s lips twisted in an ugly parody of a smile. If he were feeling even a little bit more certain of himself he might have turned away from the Lady of the Lake. He might have turned toward the dream’s image of Guinevere and let himself weep in his wife’s arms but Arthur couldn’t do that. Even in his dream he could not bring himself to break in front of Morgana and some stranger.

“You are a creature of destiny. You are the greatest King who will ever live. Your people will always follow you and you will always protect them.”

“Why?” Arthur demanded. “Because Merlin says so? Because of Merlin’s magic? That’s not enough. If there is no more to me than a magical champion then it is not enough. I won’t be King on those terms. The people should have a strong and wise leader, someone who will put their interests first, someone whose will is too strong to be anyone’s pawn. It’s very clear I’m not that man. But who am I even arguing with?” Arthur finished suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of it all.

“You are the people’s King.” 

“Why?” Arthur repeated. “Because people who are willing to follow a man because he pulls a sword from a stone deserve what they’re going to get?”

“Self-pity does not become you.” The Lady of the Lake admonished. “And it solves nothing.”

“No, it really doesn’t.” Arthur agreed, though, he might have preferred the people in his dream to be a bit less judgmental. He was trying so very hard.

“So, if you’re always with me then how come I have never dreamed you before?” Arthur asked returning to an earlier point in the conversation, more to distract himself from an apparently futile argument than because he thought he’d get a satisfying answer.

“But we have come to you many times, Arthur.” The Lady smiled gently. “You have simply forgotten upon waking.”

“Sure, why not.” Arthur agreed. “Will I forget this time too?” He asked a bit more soberly.

“You are ready to remember, this time.” The Lady said graciously. “The time for hiding is quickly passing.”

“Is it? Jolly good.” Arthur felt himself growing angry again. This whole conversation was the sort of semi-lucid twaddle that seemed to pervade even the simplest questions when sorcery and sorcerers were involved. 

It made him want to go out and kill every unicorn he could find. But, of course, he couldn’t do that because magic apparently valued a pointy horse as much as an entire kingdom of men, women and children. And didn’t that just tell him all he needed to know about what ‘balance’ was really all about. To hell with balance, what about justice.

Arthur would have jumped through whatever hoops were set before him, played any game demanded, given his own life and considered it a bargain if it saved his people. Arthur was damned, though, if he saw where Anhora got the moral authority to judge anybody’s heart- not when all he was willing to do was shrug his shoulders and wax mournful as children went hungry; not when he should have used some of his awesome powers to keep the precious, precious unicorn out of harm’s way in the first place.

“Arthur?”

Arthur struggled to corral his wayward thoughts. The incident with the unicorn had been on his mind lately as he tried to imagine how a single system of justice could protect the magical and non-magical alike- especially if the magical insisted on trotting about the forest without wearing a damn sign. Usually, though, he could keep his thoughts from running away from him in the middle of a conversation.

“Arthur?” The Lady of the Lake repeated. “It is all right.”

“Is this where the solace comes in, Lady of the Lake?” Arthur asked, trying to smile. He didn’t want to be angry anymore. It took so much energy and it hadn’t made anything any better.

“Yes.” The Lady affirmed. “You’ll find the answers you seek.”

“Not that I’m ungrateful for the encouragement,” Arthur drawled. “But you wouldn’t care to actually give me the answers?”

“You would not believe me. Just as you would not believe me when I told you that you are a great King, you must find the answers yourself to truly believe them.”

“I was going to guess either that or that the rules of whatever sleight-of-hand you answer to have forbidden interference.” Arthur complained but he wasn’t really disappointed. Dreams couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. 

“I’m just so tired.” Arthur finally confessed after several minutes of silence.

“Then rest, Arthur. We will keep watch until the morning.”  
*  
Merlin watched the faces of the townspeople and the folk who had come in from nearby villages as they listened to Arthur address them. Arthur was standing on a small platform in the middle of the town green, beside him stood the Mayor, the mayor’s wife and various other prominent folk from the area. Sir Leon and Sir Gawain stood at the foot of the platform. Their posture managed to convey vigilance without appearing to be threatening. The other knights were off hunting for game to contribute to the evening’s feast. 

Arthur was in the middle of what Merlin had come to think of as his reconciliation speech. Merlin had heard it several times now. Each time the speech was a little different, a little more polished but it was as sincere as when Merlin had first heard it. He watched as the gathered people took in their King’s words. 

There were a few faces- always a few- that held open skepticism even animosity. There were other faces that looked on in wide-eyed idolatry. Merlin would have felt embarrassed for those folk except there might have been one- maybe two- certainly no more than three occasions where Merlin himself had stared at Arthur much the same way. 

Most of the onlookers, though, appeared neither derisive nor worshipful. Most simply listened, their gazes open and considering as if they were really trying to hear Arthur- not just the words but the understanding of the world behind the words. It was a fascinating thing to watch. In the end, the response was more thoughtful than exuberant but Merlin supposed that was as it should be. 

The Mayor spoke next, Merlin listened with only half an ear. It had been a week since Arthur had yelled at Gawain and Elyan and though that had been rather horrible at the time, it must have been good for Arthur. After that day Arthur had regained his appetite and he had actually started participating in the occasional conversation. It was progress but Merlin had to work very hard not to despair over how strange and withdrawn Arthur still seemed. 

Arthur no longer ordered Merlin around, he didn’t told him to fetch firewood or look after the horses or set up tents or polish anything. He didn’t ask for Merlin’s help with his speeches. He didn’t chat with him or make fun of him. He didn’t want to hear the gossip of the town. He didn’t sit beside him in the evening to watch the fire and talk about things that could only be talked about in firelight. He didn’t cuff him about the ear. He didn’t pretend to cuff him about the ear just to ruffle his hair. Arthur didn’t touch him at all if he could avoid it.

When Merlin did his regular chores Arthur thanked him without any hint of sarcasm. For a few days Merlin neglected his regular chores as an experiment but Leon, who was ever watchful, had swooped in and seamlessly divvied up the tasks among the knights as though Merlin hadn’t been there. Merlin actually had to struggle a little to reclaim his place in the rhythm of the camp. When Merlin did extra chores Arthur made no comment. The few times Merlin had tried to recapture something of their old banter with some flippant remark Arthur just looked at him like someone who is aware that there has been a joke but can’t figure out why it’s supposed to be funny. Merlin hoped every day to find some way to bridge the distance that had suddenly sprung up between them.

“Arthur Pendragon!”

The Mayor who had been praising the work of the local mill trailed off as everyone in the crowd and on the dais looked around for the source of the disruption. Merlin’s senses went on high alert, as he moved to stand at Arthur’s shoulder.

“Arthur Pendragon.” The crowd moved aside now to reveal a woman in her middle years, dressed respectably but not richly. The woman was very pale and Merlin could see that she was trembling. Her obvious fear, however, did not in any way lessen her potential threat. Too many assassination attempts had started just this way. Leon and Gawain, no less attune to danger than Merlin had moved to block the woman’s path to Arthur, though they had not drawn their swords. 

“What would you say to me?” Arthur asked descending the dais and gesturing Leon and Gawain aside.

‘Survival instincts of a drunken infant,’ Merlin screamed inside his head even as he followed Arthur step for step.

Now that she had Arthur’s attention as well as the attention of every soul present the woman almost lost her nerve entirely. Sweat beaded on her brow and she swallowed convulsively a few times before managing to pull herself together.

“Sire, my name is Aydan. My mother was a witch. She lived in Elisedd, the village a few miles to the East. She did well by the men and women who lived there, doing healings and making little things to amuse the children. She died of fever when I was but a girl. Soon after, King Uther banned all magic from the kingdom but my mother had taught me things, shown me things.”

“I have kept my mother’s teachings secret for many years and though the people in my village are good and open-hearted I have looked upon my neighbors every day with fear- waiting for them to find out my secret and take me to the pyre. Now after so long and so many deaths, you say that the ban is lifted that magic may once again be practiced- but how can I believe it? The fear has been with me too long and I have grown weary. Here is my mother’s magic, Sire. If I am to be condemned for it then let it be now while I have found this little bit of courage.”

With that Aydan reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew forth an apple. Carefully Aydan knelt to place the apple on the ground before her. Then her eyes burned gold and she began to murmur in the old tongue. Merlin held his breath. He had thought he had known how Aydan’s story was going to go. It had all the familiar elements: a loved one with magic dead, Uther and the ban, unrelenting fear. Yet, this was not the familiar story. Merlin remained alert and focused, hoping now for Aydan’s sake that she was working no harm in her spells.

The flesh of the apple dissolved, leaving the seeds which began to sprout roots. The roots dove into the soil seeking nourishment in the dark, rich earth. A single stalk began to grow upwards. Merlin could tell that this magic was an illusion. The apple was still lying whole on the ground where Aydan had placed it. 

Without magic to reveal the truth it seemed as though the stalk was thickening, growing leaves as it split into branches. Aydan continued to murmur as the tree grew. She started to falter a bit as the tree got bigger. Leaves wavered in and out of sight and now everyone could tell that the tree wasn’t real. When the tree had grown to about the height of a man it stopped. Aydan didn’t seem able to make the tree any bigger without the illusion faltering. With the flickering image of the tree before her she looked up at Arthur.

“Have my people cause to doubt my word?” Arthur asked the kneeling woman as he came towards her. The king knelt at the woman’s side and touched the base of the tree. The illusion shimmered and disappeared, leaving only the apple. Aydan shook her head. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Merlin who had followed Arthur could feel the hope and fear battling within the woman.

Arthur pushed his fingers into the loose earth. He scooped several handfuls of dirt away to make a small hole. He then placed the apple in the hole and scattered the dirt over it. 

“Merlin?” Merlin startled. He had not thought Arthur was even aware of his presence. Suddenly Merlin felt the weight of every eye upon him. “Can you make it grow?” Arthur asked so quietly that Merlin didn’t think anyone else could hear even though Merlin sensed every ear was bent upon them.

Merlin knelt down beside Arthur and closing his eyes sought out the germ of life within the apple. When he found it, he nudged it. Then he nudged a little harder and let the magic flowing from him be sunlight and water and time.

Aydan fell backwards as she became aware of Merlin’s magic coaxing the apple seed into maturity. Recovering herself she bent forward to touch the tiny leaves that were slowly uncurling, this time for real. When the tree had reached the same height it had achieved in the illusion, Arthur touched Merlin’s wrist to halt the spell. 

Arthur took Aydan’s hand where she was stroking one of the young tree’s new branches and got to his feet bringing her with him. Merlin scrambled up as well. While in the thrall of his own magic Merlin had been oblivious to all else but now that his spell was over he felt self-conscious. People were staring at him, and the full panoply of human emotions could be read in their faces, awe, fear, curiosity, distress even envy. It made him feel strangely vulnerable to be the object of so many people’s attention. He wasn’t used to it and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Unconsciously Merlin moved closer to Arthur as though the other man would shelter him.

“Mayor Gwylfa, esteemed elders.” Arthur addressed the various dignitaries still standing on the dais. “Will you speak for the people of this town, the village of Elisedd and its neighbors? Will you promise to protect and nurture what has been made today?”

“Sire, I will speak for all those gathered here.” Mayor Gwylfa replied. “We will tend this tree together and in so doing we will remember to care for one another.”

There were cries of affirmation from the crowd. A woman had stepped forward to embrace Aydan. Others were also coming to touch the magically grown apple tree. Merlin could not stop grinning.

He was still grinning several hours later after Arthur had finished all his scheduled activities with the townspeople and finally had a bit of time to himself before the feast started. Merlin had tried once or twice to restrain the grin- but each time he would remember that he had done magic in front of Arthur. He had done magic in front of Arthur at Arthur’s request. He had done magic in front of Arthur at Arthur’s request and everyone had been happy about it. Then the grin would pop right back into place. 

Merlin was very eager to talk with Arthur about the entire incident in the town square as soon as possible but now that they were finally alone in Arthur’s borrowed room with several letters from Camelot spread out on the desk ready for the King’s attention Merlin did not quite know how to start the conversation.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been able to grow a seed into a small tree in a few minutes?” Merlin tried, aiming for casual with just a bit of cheek.

“You did lead me to believe you were rather powerful, I supposed you’d be able to manage it.” Arthur replied putting down the letter from Guinevere he had been about to read before Merlin spoke. 

“It was rather good, wasn’t it, Sire?” Merlin felt warmth suffuse him. 

“Yes,” Arthur acknowledged and then quietly, “thank you.”

Merlin beamed.

“I just hope we didn’t steal some poor orchard keeper’s favorite fruit tree. I don’t suppose there’s a way to tell is there?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin was baffled.

“The tree, didn’t you have to take it from somewhere else or kill a different tree- for balance?” Arthur was puzzled by Merlin’s apparent confusion.

“No! Of course not. Why would you think . . .” Merlin shook his head to try and bring order to his thoughts. “It’s not like that, Arthur. Yes, ‘a life for a life’ but that doesn’t apply to plants.” Merlin was fairly certain that a life for a life did not apply to plants, animals or even magical creatures- but yeah, it wouldn’t hurt to double check at the first opportunity. “For most magic- There is no cost like that for most magic. It’s just . . .” Merlin waved his arms, “free.”

“Free?” Arthur asked skeptically. “Are you sure, Merlin? It’s no good if magic makes Camelot’s crops prosper if that means our neighbors starve.”

“Well, of course that’s no good.” Merlin was a little offended that Arthur had said that like he thought Merlin might argue with him. 

“Look, Arthur, yes, it’s true that there is a cost with extremely powerful magic like creating life- human life. And sometimes magic can have unforeseen consequences but most sorcery is like, is like . . . .” Merlin waved his arms again, what was most sorcery like? “It’s like a water mill?”

“A water mill?”

“Yes, or a sail. It’s a way to harness a natural force, like a sail catching the wind.” 

“So, are you the wheel or the water in this analogy?” Arthur asked brow furrowed.

“Well, I’m both, I suppose.” Merlin sighed. “But it’s not really like a watermill. Magic is, well it’s not really like anything else. It’s just itself. I know I’m not making sense but it’s just so hard to find the words. It’s like explaining color to a blind man.”

“And I’m the blind man.”

“Arthur,” Merlin chastised but then he continued as he noticed a muscle twitch by the king’s lips; “You’re winding me up, aren’t you?”

“Only a little.” Arthur answered. He’d actually found Merlin’s last analogy perfectly apt but listening to Merlin, earnestly and excitedly, trip all over his words trying to explain something that probably couldn’t really be explained was comfortably familiar. He had wanted to prolong the moment.

“Magic can do so many good things, Arthur.” Merlin grew serious again. “There doesn’t always have to be a cost. Let me do something. Let me do something that would be useful, something that would benefit the people of Camelot, let me show you how magic can be used for good.” 

Merlin willed Arthur to give his magic a chance to prove itself. The sorcerer was deeply frustrated that he hadn’t realized that he needed to have this conversation with Arthur sooner. If the prat had questions, why hadn’t he just asked? Well, Merlin could guess why Arthur would be reluctant to seek his help and that made all his frustration melt into sadness.

Arthur was quiet for a time. He knew that as king he would probably have to ask that a certain amount of magic be done. If nothing else, Camelot would need magic to defend against magical attacks. Arthur had asked Merlin to use magic today and that had seemed to go all right and yet Arthur was still reluctant. He was still trying to understand all the magic that had been done around him without his knowledge. He also very much doubted that asking Merlin for a favor was the way to help restore his confidence in his own abilities but . . . 

Arthur looked down at the table where the dispatches from his capitol were arranged. They were all several days old. Any response he had would take another few days before it could get back. It was something Arthur worried about constantly, he needed to travel, he needed to be seen in all parts of his kingdom, he needed to journey to other kingdoms but what if something were to happen while he was away . . . 

“Could magic help to send messages across great distances quickly?” 

“Yes! Absolutely, no problem.” Merlin was grinning again. “I’m sure there is a way to do that. I, uh, might need to look through my book and Gaius is always really helpful about thinking through new spells, so I might not have something immediately but I can definitely do that.”

It was hard to resist an enthusiastic Merlin and Arthur smiled a little wistfully as though at a fond memory. Seeing the smile, Merlin bent forward and put his hand on Arthur’s arm. “It will work out, you’ll see. Things went all right today, didn’t they? Things could not have worked out better.”

“Merlin, you didn’t stage that, did you?” Arthur’s face had fallen. “If that was your way of trying to teach me about magic, so help me-“

“I didn’t! It wasn’t!” Merlin interrupted in dismay. “I was ready to throw Aydan into the side of the town hall. I had no idea what was going to happen.”

Merlin met Arthur’s gaze steadily, trying to control his regret and frustration lest they read as guilt. After a moment, Arthur nodded and looked down at Guinevere’s letter without reading it.

“Arthur, what are you thinking?” Merlin asked softly after several minutes had passed and Arthur was still just staring at the paper in front of him. They had finally had something like a real conversation and even if Arthur had still been a little somber, a little remote for Merlin’s liking it had definitely felt like progress. Merlin couldn’t bear to let Arthur retreat back into his silence.

“I was thinking about my father.”

Merlin bit his lip. He was hard-pressed to see how that could token any good.

“Everything was always a test and a lesson. I didn’t even know if I’d passed or failed a lot of the time or what the lesson was supposed to be. He was always there watching, trying to figure out if I was going to be what he wanted me to be- if I was going to be worth what I had cost him.” Arthur sighed and rubbed at the skin between his eyes and along the bridge of his nose. “He was a liar and a hypocrite. And I loved him with all my heart and I tried- as much as I could- to be loyal to him.”

“He loved you, Arthur, more than anything.” Merlin spoke past the lump in his throat. He desperately wanted to hug Arthur but he was too afraid the King would not permit it. He wondered fleetingly if there ever might come a time when that would be different. “His love for you will be his salvation, his only chance at redemption.”

Arthur’s eyes were red but dry. He nodded to acknowledge Merlin’s words and tried to force a smile. But his heart wasn’t in it.  
*  
There was a rhythm to being Queen, Guinevere was discovering as she oversaw Camelot in Arthur’s absence. There were times when Gwen would have so much to do that she could work all day and all night and still not have enough time to see to every desperately urgent task before her. At other times, though, it seemed that everything was gliding along so smoothly that any action on Gwen’s part would only upset things. It was during such a lull on a misty late afternoon that Gwen found herself in one of the larger audience halls playing chess with Sir Kay as the ladies and gentlemen of the court amused themselves with games of cards, books of poetry and the occasional musical instrument. 

There was a strategy, though, even to Gwen’s leisure. She played chess because some of the nobility were inclined to believe the newly crowned peasant queen was uncultured and incapable of intellectual pursuits. Guinevere had been present during the many long, arduous hours Morgana’s tutors had bludgeoned a fine education into the young woman. There weren’t many at court who had received a better education than Guinevere and she found that winning at chess was an easy way to remind people that she was clever enough. 

Guinevere was such a successful chess-player, in fact, that she was starting to have difficulty finding opponents. Sir Kay was always a willing partner, though, and Guinevere found she liked Arthur’s Seneschal more than she had expected to. He was cynical, temperamentally conservative and occasionally hot-tempered but he was also reliable, hardworking and fiercely devoted. He had accepted her as Queen without a single raised eyebrow or hidden smirk. That meant a lot to Gwen. 

Even though Guinevere had gained the respect and the affection of many since marrying Arthur and becoming queen (and in her mind the two experiences had blended into the same event, the same transformation from ‘I’ to ‘we’) there were still those who sneered behind their hands and rolled their eyes whispering ‘power-seeking slut’ and ‘wanton peasant’. Such talk grieved her but winning the support of people like Kay did much to make up for it.

The afternoon was quiet and peaceful and Gwen’s mind drifted dreamily between moves. She had learned a great deal in the last few weeks. She had gained in confidence and authority. She no longer felt surprised to see the crown on her head whenever she passed a mirror. It was an adjustment that would have taken much longer had Arthur not been away. While the King was in residence, he was the first and last authority and it had been difficult for the court and even for Guinevere herself to take her seriously as Queen. 

Yet, even as Gwen learned to assert herself and grow comfortable with her new rank, she found herself increasingly missing Arthur. It was only to be expected, of course - a little pining was only natural. But it was more than the typical longing of a wife for her husband. At their parting Arthur had been in a wretched state and Gwen could not help but worry. The fact that Merlin- who could usually be counted on to brighten even Arthur’s darkest moods- was also miserable made things worse.

Gwen had felt hurt and confused by Merlin’s sudden revelations but she had forgiven him quickly, embraced him, comforted him as best she could. She had had to. Arthur would not let her comfort him and Guinevere knew how unspeakably horrible it was to cause Arthur pain. 

Merlin and Guinevere had talked then, talked as they had not done together for a long time. Gwen was reminded of just how much she cared for Merlin and how much she valued his friendship. He had confessed how he had felt trapped by circumstances to continue a deceit which had long since begun to torment him. He explained what he believed of destiny and how terrified he was that he might have endangered it. He talked and Gwen petted and soothed. 

Later, it was Gwen’s turn to talk. She talked about her exile and how shame still burned her. Merlin didn’t understand. It had been Morgana’s magic. Gwen had had no choice. It wasn’t her fault. 

Gwen had tried to explain how the idea that magic could do that to her was terrifying- she could not bring herself to accept that her own will could be so easily overthrown. She would go mad if she believed herself so vulnerable. Merlin had gone very still at this but Gwen had not come to the true source of her guilt. It wasn’t that she cared for Lancelot- her true feelings for Lancelot were even now difficult for Gwen to understand. Arthur would have accepted it, though, if she had gone to him and told him that she loved Lancelot. He wouldn’t have liked it but he would have wanted her to be happy. 

No, the guilt came from inflicting a personal hurt publicly, thoughtlessly, selfishly. Because of Guinevere, every spiteful noble who disagreed with Arthur’s policy got to laugh at him. They got to chuckle and say ‘well, he would lie down with dogs . . . ..’ They got to mock Arthur for believing a servant girl could be anything besides a slut or a drudge. Arthur had had faith in her and that faith had been turned into a weapon in the hands of his enemies. 

Not only that, but because of Guinevere, Gawain, Percival and especially Elyan would find it that much harder to gain respect and acceptance. The next commoner Arthur tried to raise to a position of authority would have that much more to prove. That was Gwen’s sorrow. Merlin reassured her as best he could. There was little he could say but just having spoken aloud to a friendly ear was a help to Gwen.

Throughout their entire conversation Gwen could see how beset with fear Merlin had been that despite the pardon he had been granted Arthur would never believe in him as he had done before. Gwen gad consoled him, telling him that he and Arthur had a powerful connection- unbreakable. The two men loved each other deeply. So much was obvious. Guinevere really did believe that Arthur would eventually come round. He would come to appreciate that even through the lies Merlin’s devotion was genuine. She believed it and yet she still felt anxious. It was a good thing- Gwen supposed- for Arthur and Merlin to have had time away from the City together- but as each day passed she found she was more and more eager for their return.

“My lady?”

Guinevere startled. Her thoughts had wandered and as she came back to herself she took a good look at the chessboard. Kay was doing his best to conceal his glee but it was suddenly very apparent that she had all but dreamwalked through the last several moves. She was in a few moves of being checkmated and she would have to think very carefully about how she might escape.

“My lady?” George repeated in the exact same tone of respectful inquiry.

“Yes, George.” Gwen responded, studying the board with renewed concentration.

“There is a gentleman who seeks an audience, my lady. He is of the Druid persuasion.” George dropped his voice as he spoke the last sentence. He clearly felt that that information while important to relay was also delicate. He might have used the same tone to say ‘He has a number of open sores,’ or ‘He is wearing women’s clothing.’ “He claims to have news of some importance.”

“I will see him in the solar, George.” Gwen said. She smiled at Kay as she got to her feet. It wasn’t her fault their game had been interrupted. “Did he give his name?”

“Yes, my lady. He is called Alator.” George bowed and left to escort the Druid to the Queen’s private drawing room.

Gwen looked about her. She was aware that the news of a Druid visitor had drawn much attention. Before going to greet their guest Gwen asked Sir Kay and Lady Edwina to accompany her. She chose Kay and Edwina because of all those present she felt the most at ease with those two. 

Edwina had only recently come to Camelot and she had never known Guinevere as anything but her Queen. Gwen had taken an instant liking to the woman. With Morgana . . . gone all of Gwen’s closest friends were men. While there was nothing wrong with this, she missed the close companionship of another woman. With Arthur, Merlin, Elyan and the other Round Table knights away, Edwina had become one of Gwen’s closest confidantes.

When the Queen arrived at the solar, Alator was already studying the room with interest. It was a lovely room, cozy and comfortable filled with tapestries, cushions and pillows. Since it was one of Guinevere’s rooms it was also filled with flowers. There were examples of fine metalwork throughout but no weaponry. Gwen hoped that any nervousness a Druid might feel at coming to Camelot might be dispelled in such a setting.

“This is lovely work.” Alator commented, turning to the Queen from where he had been leaning over the loom where Guinevere’s latest project hung. He gave the Queen the least suggestion of a bow. 

Alator was a man of middle height and stocky build. He was dressed in a purple robe, belted at the waist and he wore a cloak with a hood. The hood was down, revealing a completely bald head. His eyebrows seemed to be trying to compensate. His expression seemed pleasant enough and if he did feel uneasy among those who had so recently been enemies of his kind he showed no evidence of it.

“Thank you.” Gwen smiled. “You are welcome here Alator. I am Guinevere and this is Sir Kay and Lady Edwina. Please, be seated. I am told you have messages?” Gwen had intended to offer her hand to Alator but at the last moment she couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

At once, she was ashamed. She knew that just because Alator was a druid and probably had magic that that didn’t make him evil or dangerous. She knew that and yet there was something in his demeanor that reminded her with sudden fear of Aredian. The two men had nothing in common. And yet they both seemed to look at her with the same casual calculation that said: ‘I bear you no ill will, but if it served my purpose I would see you hurt, broken, tortured and it wouldn’t cost me a moment’s sleep.’

Smiling his acceptance of her offer, Alator relaxed contentedly into one of the better padded chairs. Gwen sat across from him while Edwina took a place beside Gwen. Kay stood just behind his Queen’s right shoulder and stared at Alator with an ‘I’m not about to put up with nonsense’ expression on his face. The two guards that often followed Gwen about the castle stood at the door and stared blankly ahead.

“Indeed, my lady.” Alator began. “Initially, I came to Camelot seeking the Lord Emrys- the greater part of what I have to say is for my lord alone.” Alator paused assessing the reaction to Emrys’s name. He knew very well that Emrys was with the King but he had not been able to resist the opportunity to take the measure of the Pendragons’ Court. 

Emrys’s part in Camelot’s defense was now recognized. It was known that Merlin had magic. Alator did not understand why these revelations had been made. It seemed dangerous to him and he was eager to assess their impact for himself. Alator hoped that Emrys had at least withheld the fact that he was Merlin. Emrys made himself vulnerable to the Pendragons the more he revealed about himself.

Alator was not able to glean much from Gwen’s politely attentive expression though and so he went on with what he intended to say. “As my lord is not currently here, I do have news which I may share with Camelot’s court: The druids are gathering. Soon a council representing all the druids of Albion will convene to decide many things- no doubt the extent to which the druids would wish to have dealings with Camelot would be among these things.”

“How long until this druid council convenes?” Gwen asked. She wasn’t sure what to make of the druid’s references to Emrys. Did Merlin know this man? Gwen had heard in broad overview the account of Merlin’s exploits but she did not remember an Alator. There was also something about the way Alator wielded Emrys’s name that persuaded Gwen that even if Merlin and Alator had met they had not spent much time together.

“It will take several months. Participants, representatives and delegates must be selected and we are widely dispersed- communication is slow and travel hazardous. I am uncertain, however, whether the council would wish to hear anything from Arthur and Guinevere Pendragon. Lord Emrys would, of course, be welcomed. Indeed, Lord Emrys’s presence is crucial.” Alator could not entirely resist the impulse to make it clear to this woman that she and her husband were outsiders and that they depended on the goodwill of their magical protector.

“If that is so then Camelot’s interests are certain to be well-represented.” Gwen smiled, trying to remain friendly. She glanced back at Kay reassuringly. Even without seeing him she had begun to feel the tension rolling off the knight as he struggled not to respond to what he clearly perceived to be disrespect. 

“What do you intend to do now, Alator?” Gwen inquired.

“I will wait for my lord to return. I must deliver the rest of my news to him as soon as possible and then await his instructions. What is decided at this Council will determine the fate of the druids for generations- it is essential that Emrys rejoin his people as quickly as may be.” Despite the urgency of his words, Alator remained calm and relaxed.

“You are welcome to remain here at the castle while you wait.” Gwen offered. “Indeed, if we could impose on your kindness, there is so little we know about the druids that we would be glad to learn as much about you and your people as you would care to share.” Gwen’s instinct was to lean forward and take Alator’s hand but the strange horror at the idea of touching him that had overcome her earlier returned and she remained still.

“Camelot’s ignorance has been my people’s best protection for many years.” Alator said with a smile that did not at all soften his words. “I will make my own arrangements, my lady.”

Gwen inclined her head. She understood that Alator had cause to mistrust Camelot, but she was still saddened by his sudden bitterness. “As you will. Thank you for bringing your news. As soon as Emrys returns, I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity to speak again.” Without further words, Alator rose, gave Gwen a small bow, smirked at Kay and departed.

With Alator gone, Gwen signaled the guards to station themselves outside the door. Kay moved to take the chair formerly occupied by Alator and sighed in relief as he was able to find some support for his maimed leg.

“Well, he certainly wanted to make it clear his loyalty was to Emrys and not to the King and Queen of Camelot.” Edwina commented.

“It shouldn’t make a difference.” Gwen asserted, confident in Merlin’s loyalty.

Kay shrugged but Edwina said delicately. “Even if Emrys proves to be as loyal as we all hope, it may be trouble if people believe that they can use Emrys to forward their own cause.”

“Even Arthur could not keep some of his father’s enemies from using his name to rally support against Uther.” Kay added. “If you wished, my lady, we could have some people keep an inconspicuous eye on Alator.”

“No. I don’t want him to get the idea we see him as a threat.” Guinevere replied even as she wondered if she had been too gentle in dealing with Alator. He had not been disrespectful exactly but he had made it clear that he did not believe she had or should have any authority over him- even as he claimed to be serving Emrys. She had wanted to be conciliatory but perhaps it had come off as weakness.

“It may be that Gaius will have some insight into what a druid gathering entails.” Kay suggested.

“Of course.” Gwen smiled. 

Happily the old physician was letting one of the herbalists from the town as well a bright and eager youth Gwen had found among the kitchen lads help him with his work. Still Gwen liked to check on him herself as often as possible. She realized that she had not seen Gaius as much as she intended lately. This was an excellent excuse for a visit. Part of her worried that she had been subconsciously avoiding Gaius. Merlin’s revelation that he and Gaius had known of Morgana’s magic for years- letting her remain terrified and then giving her increasingly large doses of sleeping potion that they knew would not help her- had struck Gwen as deeply disrespectful as well as dishonest. Gaius was very dear to her, though, and what was done was done. “I’ll go to see him first thing in the morning.”


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as the party entered Sir Ector’s demesnes, Merlin sensed a subtle change in the magic surrounding him- it was stronger, more enveloping but also somehow gentler. He had noticed it before the few times he had come with Arthur to visit Sir Ector. It reminded him a bit of Freya’s lake except where that felt ancient, Ector’s lands felt out of time altogether. He had mentioned it to Gaius and the old physician had raised an eyebrow and speculated a bit about the convergence of ley lines or the presence of a powerful earth spirit. Whatever the explanation, Merlin felt with the same intuitive certainty with which he felt his magic that this was as safe a place for Arthur as any could be.

They were still some distance from Ector’s manor house when people started to gather along the roadway in twos and threes to cheer or shout a greeting. Similar things had happened as they came near any place they had been expected- and the more people knew Arthur the more pleased they were to see him- but here the people seemed to not only regard Arthur as their king but also as something of a long lost son. As a child Arthur had spent several summers here when there had been fears of contagious sickness erupting in the city and the people must have imprinted on him early. 

The sense of homecoming made Merlin think of Ealdor. It was with a vague feeling of disappointment that Merlin realized that aside from his mother there was little left that felt like home in the village. His childhood was faraway and though Merlin wanted to remember that he had been happy with Will and his mother he wasn’t sure if he could. Now when he thought of Ealdor Merlin thought of it as his mother’s home and the place where Arthur had come to help him and the place where he had found refuge for Guinevere. 

It was also the place where Will and others had died facing bandits. An old question fluttered over the surface of Merlin’s mind: should he have done more against those bandits. He had needed to keep his secret from Arthur and he had probably needed to keep it from the village as well for his mother’s sake at least. Yet Merlin could probably have saved more lives. 

While Merlin’s magic had swung the balance it had been Arthur who had given the villagers the means and the courage to fight for themselves. That was the best outcome, wasn’t it? Merlin’s magic could have saved his village. It might have done it without a single villager losing his life. But magic could not have taken away the people’s fear or given them back their pride. Merlin decided he had made the best decision he could.

Shaking his head to disperse the thoughts of Ealdor, Merlin reminded himself that he was pleased to be visiting Sir Ector. While they were here Merlin felt he could safely have a little time to himself before the group returned to Camelot. It would be good to have a chance for him and Arthur to have a little space. 

Merlin knew he had been hovering. He had tried to compensate for the emotional distance that still hung between himself and Arthur by reducing as much as possible the physical distance. Merlin’s constant proximity had annoyed Arthur. Merlin knew it had. But the king made no complaint, which was uncharacteristic and therefore worrying. 

So, Merlin made up his mind that as soon as they reached the manor house and Arthur was settled in, Merlin would go exploring- maybe convince Gawain to go fishing or be convinced by Gawain to go drinking. Yes, a few days of breathing space and things would be better all the faster, Merlin was sure.

“Welcome, Sire!’ Sir Ector called charging across the courtyard to where Arthur and his entourage were just coming in. Ector was a large man, very fit for his age. He was bluff and good-humored and everyone liked him. He was also staunchly loyal to the Pendragons.

When Arthur had dismounted, the elderly knight dropped to his knees and touched Arthur’s gloved hand to his lips. He was on his feet again in the next instant, wrapping his arms around the king and lifting him- chainmail and all- off his feet. 

Ector greeted the knights, then. He knew most of them already. In many cases he knew their parents and siblings as well. When he was introduced to Elyan, Gawain and Percival, he was so gracious and welcoming that even Gawain- who had taken it into his head that he disliked all the vassal lords they had thus far encountered- was charmed. Ector even took note of Cabal- scratching her ears- and commenting that by the size of her paws she would grow into a giant. 

An hour later, when Arthur had washed away the dust from the road and divested himself of his armor, Merlin excused himself to disappear into the afternoon. Arthur was surprised by Merlin’s departure. He had clung like a bur the past few weeks. Was there some magical catastrophe looming that the sorcerer had to run off and attend to? Arthur had been on the point of asking but stopped because he did not want to give Merlin an opportunity to lie. 

Finding himself unexpectedly alone and with no scheduled activities for a few hours the King decided to take the opportunity to go through the new messages and reports from Camelot. Yet, without people to keep him distracted Arthur was tempted to brood. It was never quite the same without his window but even so. 

Before Arthur could make up his mind to get to work, Ector appeared at his door. The old man apologized for the intrusion but he was eager to show Arthur all that had changed since his last visit. Arthur was more grateful than he cared to let on as Ector- always more demonstrative than Arthur was strictly speaking accustomed to- slung an arm around his shoulder and began to chat happily.

Ector talked about all manner of things as they walked through the Hall and then through the surrounding houses and workshops. Arthur made sure to take several opportunities to tell Ector about Kay and all the important work in which he was indispensable. He did this partly because it was true but also because he loved to see the glitter of paternal pride sparkle in the old knight’s eyes. When the two men returned to Arthur’s room, Ector brought out a jar of wine. There was to be a feast soon- there was always a feast- but Ector had intuited that Arthur would be glad of company.

“You seem troubled, Sire.” Ector poured two large cups and regarded his king inquiringly.

“It rather comes with the job, I’m afraid.” Arthur smiled. He liked Sir Ector. He trusted him and he found the man’s presence pleasant where recently the company of those who were his closest companions chafed and bruised. He could hardly speak of what troubled him, though.

“Is it the ban on magic- is it really gone?” For the first time in a long and far ranging conversation a whisper of anxiety penetrated Ector’s bonhomie.

“You must already know that it is.”

“I knew but I still needed to hear it from you.” Ector agreed.

Arthur nodded. A lot of people seemed to need to hear it from him. He would have to make his speech again. The speech was about more than magic but that was the point that seemed to catch at people’s notice. “It won’t be as it was before the purge, Ector.” Arthur assured. “We aren’t going to let what happened before control what is going to happen now.”

“I know you would not do this if you weren’t sure it was the right thing, Arthur.” Ector replied loyally. Arthur cringed inwardly. He was as sure as he could be but how could he not doubt? 

Ector went on contemplatively, “To Uther magic was a power that could never truly be brought into the service of civilization that to try was to invite a wolf into the house to guard the children.”

“Do you believe that?” Arthur knew that while Uther did distrust all magic he had not been above trying to leash a wolf or two when it served his purpose. His father had liked to hedge his bets.

“Wolves can become dogs, I suppose, given time and patience and love.” Ector shrugged. “Regardless, I will follow where you lead.”

Arthur searched for words that could come close to expressing how grateful and humbled he felt by Ector’s faith. Before he could find any, however, there was a knock on the door. At Arthur’s call, a servant opened the door to announce the feast was ready to begin. Ector slapped his thighs and rose from his chair with a giant smile on his face.

“Cook claims to have discovered a truly delightful sauce for the lamb. She has not yet let me sample it- and I am desperately eager.” Ector told Arthur and with that the discussion of magic ended.  
*  
Merlin had returned in the morning and once again asked that if he was not needed could he have the day free. This time Arthur did ask about his plans. It had been cowardice not to ask yesterday and Arthur regretted it. He had to look at the question- not as giving Merlin an opportunity to lie- but rather as giving Merlin an opportunity to tell the truth. 

Besides if there were something going on, Arthur very much needed to know. Even if whatever it was was a completely magical problem and utterly beyond Arthur’s understanding then at least the king could worry. He was entitled to worry. Merlin’s answer, though, was thoroughly mundane. Arthur chose to believe him. 

While Merlin followed his own pursuits, Arthur spent his time much in the same way he had spent it at every town or lord’s holding they had visited. He talked to the people, explained the changes in the laws that were currently being developed. He took in the state of their harvests and other produce and he listened. He also found time to compliment Cook on her truly excellent lamb sauce. Though Arthur had a number of things he intended to accomplish, this particular visit still felt a bit like a holiday. There was a festival atmosphere among the people and Arthur found he was nearly able to share in the feeling. 

In the afternoon, Arthur watched Ector fly some of his best hawks. Falconry had never appealed to Arthur. It was too passive. Yet, the birds were undeniably beautiful. As Arthur watched the birds of prey soaring with apparent effortlessness it suddenly occurred to him that Merlin might enjoy the sport. It didn’t require stealth. The greatest challenge was training the bird, gaining his trust and forming a bond. Merlin would be good at that Arthur thought not entirely without bitterness. 

Arthur could just about see Merlin trying to convince a hawk to go for a lure. The thought made him smile- despite everything. Merlin would no doubt try to reason with the bird, flatter it then threaten it. The first few attempts were certain to be high comedy. But Merlin was a fast learner. 

Arthur wondered suddenly if flying a hawk was anything like doing magic. Did controlling magic feel the same as taming a wild creature- bending its instincts to the hunter’s purposes? Did casting a hawk into the air to kill and then obediently return feel like casting a spell, power pouring out to do the sorcerer’s will then settling into quiescence. Arthur couldn’t decide if the comparison made him feel better or worse.

It was nearly time for the evening meal- another feast, when Ector took Arthur aside. “Might I ask a favor, Sire?”

“Certainly.” Arthur agreed, immensely pleased to have the opportunity to grant a favor.

“I hesitate to ask but- Do you remember Dame Aggie? She has been my children’s nurse and then my grandchildren’s. She is practically one of the family.” Arthur did remember Dame Aggie. She was a sturdy woman, made of equal parts kindness and efficiency. “She has been poorly for a while now-” 

Arthur murmured his sympathy and Ector went on. “It’s in the nature of things, she is quite old. She did ask if she might speak with you briefly- if it would be no trouble.”

“Of course.” Arthur consented, wondering what the redoubtable nurse could possibly want to talk to him about.

“You need not, Sire.” Ector seemed nervous. “It was about a dozen years ago now, Aggie’s niece was found practicing magic. She was tried, sentenced and executed. The girl was fourteen and it was heartbreaking for all of us. Now that the ban has been lifted, Aggie told me she wished to say something- but it may be as well to leave it, Arthur. The past is the past.”

Sir Leon who along with Sir Percival was currently assigned the task of unobtrusively guarding Arthur suddenly stepped forward. “Sire, it may be wiser to do as Sir Ector suggests and leave the past in the past.” Sir Leon had almost perfected the skill of all good guards of hearing without listening. Yet, in this case, Leon had known too many angry relatives of dead sorcerers to want Arthur to have anything to do with Dame Aggie and he could not keep his silence.

Arthur gave Leon a reproachful look for entering a conversation to which he was not invited, before turning to Ector: “I’d be pleased to meet with Dame Aggie. Now, if it is convenient for her.”

Ector nodded and offered to show Arthur to Aggie’s room. The old lady did not leave her quarters often but she was well enough to receive a guest. 

When they arrived at the door, Arthur knocked firmly. A moment later, a young woman with red hair and freckles opened the door. Upon seeing who stood without the girl went as white as milk and dropped into a very low curtsy. Sir Ector quickly stepped forward and took the girl’s hand, smiling at her paternally. “Hello, Molly. The King is here to speak to Dame Aggie, do you think she is up to receiving callers?”

The girl looked from Ector to Arthur and then at Leon and Percival. Leon and Percival had gone back to trying to be unobtrusive but as they were all standing together in an otherwise empty hallway it didn’t work very well. “I shall see, Sir Ector, Sire.” The girl swallowed several times before backing into the room, leaving the door wide open.

Sir Ector sighed a little and then squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at the feast, then, Arthur.”

Arthur doubted that he would be much interested in food after this encounter but he nodded agreement. As the sound of Ector’s retreating footsteps faded, Arthur gestured that Leon and Percival should move some distance away. The two men would be intimidating in an old woman’s sickroom. Leon resisted.

“I should go in with you.” The knight suggested softly.

“If I can’t handle her, I doubt you’ll be much help.” Arthur shot back. Leon did not deserve to be spoken to in such a way and it was not Arthur’s habit to do so but Arthur really wanted to put someone in his place. Arthur hated himself for the unfairness of it even as another part of him was soothed to watch Leon accept the rebuke humbly. 

Even so, the First Knight felt compelled to make another appeal. It was possible, Leon attempted to explain, that if this Dame Aggie had some magic and was bent on revenge then that magic might not be strong enough to overcome two men. No matter the extent of her power, though, Leon felt his place was beside Arthur even if he couldn’t do anything. But, the King was adamant. When Molly came back to the door, she found Arthur looking imperturbably royal standing before her and two knights looking sullen at the opposite end of the hallway. With several, deep curtsies the girl ushered the king into the chamber.

The interior of the room was dim and it smelled a bit too strongly of roses. There was a small bed in the corner of the room and a pallet next to it- probably so Molly could stay with Aggie at night. There was also a table strewn with handkerchiefs and vials of various medicines. There was a small fire in the hearth and a threadbare rug covering the cold flagstones. Before the fire there were set two chairs. Dame Aggie stood in front of the far chair and as Arthur entered, she attempted a deep curtsy with Molly at her side.

Arthur hurried toward the old woman. Taking her hands, he helped Molly settle her in the chair before taking the other. Aggie was smiling beatifically at Arthur, “Thank you, Sire, for coming to see me. Sir Ector is a good man to indulge me so. I should not have asked but I feel I’m old enough to be excused the impertinence.”

“This visit is no hardship, Dame Aggie.” Arthur said, smiling back at the old woman. He remembered her fondly from his past visits. He had always been a little jealous of Kay because of her.

“Did Sir Ector tell you why I asked to see you?” Aggie asked after a moment.

“He mentioned your niece.” Arthur responded trying not to let his tension show.

Aggie nodded. “Molly, would you be a dear and see if the new potion the physician is preparing for me is ready?”

Molly regarded Aggie and Arthur for a moment before bending down to kiss Aggie’s cheek. “I won’t be long.” With that she curtseyed to Arthur and scurried away.

“She’s a good girl, Molly.” Aggie commented. “No blood kin to me but you wouldn’t know it with how well she looks after me.”

“I’m sure she is pleased to take care of you.’’ Arthur answered. “You have taken care of many others who were not kin to you.”

“True enough, Sire, but now it is of my kin that I wish to speak. The girl’s name was Mwynen. She was a good girl, Sire. Save for the witchcraft, which she greatly repented, she was a good girl.” Aggie paused to look deeply into Arthur’s eyes, urging him to believe her. Arthur did believe her and he felt sick at heart. 

“But there was the witchcraft. I don’t think she meant to do it the first time. It came to her as easy as a song and she could not bring herself to stop. She never did do anything with it that hurt anyone. She only used it for little things- silly things. She would use it to straighten her hair or heal a blemish- small acts of vanity, the kind we’re all tempted to in our youth. Mwynen also would do a bit of magic to make her chores go faster. She wasn’t a lazy girl, though; she just had so much she wanted to do. When she was found out, she confessed it all and I believe she held nothing back. There was nothing of harm in the girl except she couldn’t make herself stop.”

“I’m sure she was a good girl.” Arthur said softly.

“Aye, she was but the magic got her somehow. I swear to you, Sire, Mwynen did not seek the magic. She honored the law and if someone had offered the magic to her- even to save her own life she would have said no, but it was inside her.”

“My sister blamed herself for not being able to keep the witchcraft from her but we all told her that there was nothing she could have done. She was no more to blame than if Mwynen had caught a fever. There was nothing Sir Ector could have done either. When Mwynen was caught the only thing he could do for her was to make sure she felt no pain.” Aggie sighed with sadness but no anger.

“I’m sure everyone did the best they could.” Arthur knew the words for horrible, useless platitudes but he wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“I’ve heard that magic is no longer forbidden.” Aggie spoke earnestly and Arthur nodded and braced himself to hear whatever she wished to say. “I’ve heard that there is an amnesty for those who have the magic in them but never let it hurt anyone?” Again Arthur nodded that this was true.

“Mwynen never hurt anyone, Sire. I’ll swear to it by the old gods or the new god. Sir Ector would swear, too. A dozen others would also swear but they’re not noble like Sir Ector. Could Mwynen, could you grant Mwynen amnesty? It would be such a comfort to her family and the poor girl herself will no doubt rest easier if it could be written down and recorded properly that she never did hurt anyone and she would have kept the law if she could.”

“You don’t need to swear. I can have the document drawn up and signed this evening.” Arthur’s voice was thick. Anger or resentment Arthur could have understood. Aggie and her family had been placed in a terrible position; caught between two conflicting claims. She should have been screaming ‘if magic isn’t an absolute evil- if it is possible to live a decent life with it then why did a poor girl have to die?’ Arthur himself was nearly screaming it. Yet, there was no accusation in Aggie’s eyes. 

These people- his people, it was wrong to twist their hearts. It was wrong to demand they choose between loyalty to their king and protecting a frightened girl. People didn’t always choose the right thing to do but people deserved to have the right thing as one of their options. 

‘I don’t ever want to ask a person to do wrong for my sake or at my command. I don’t ever want to ask a person to choose between loyalty to me and their own conscience.’ Even as he pleaded Arthur knew he would. He knew he had. It was difficult to look at the gratitude shining in Aggie’s eyes but Arthur held her gaze offering all the absolution in his power. ‘Yet when I ask that the wrong thing be done and it is; if anyone does choose me over their conscience then I will not abandon them. I will stand with them and share the sorrow and the guilt and I will take as much of it on myself as I can.’

“Thank you, Sire. Truly.”

Arthur nodded. It was too hard to speak.

“Well, you’ve been very good to listen to an old woman carry on.” Aggie had very quickly regained her composure and her habitual temper of gentle efficiency was reasserting itself. “I have no doubt the feast will be starting soon and I have delayed you long enough.” 

Dame Aggie made an effort to come to her feet but Arthur gestured for her to remain seated. He came across the room and bent to kiss the old woman’s cheek much as Molly had done. Aggie caught his hand and brought it to her lips. They stayed like that for just a moment before Arthur abruptly straightened. He gave the woman a smile of farewell and she returned it, content.

Leon and Percival were loitering anxiously in the hall and descended upon Arthur the moment he emerged from Aggie’s room.

“Arthur?” Leon questioned. The king’s face was flushed and his eyes bright.

“Everything is fine.” Arthur replied and his voice shook with an emotion that might have been anger. Without giving Leon a chance to respond, he strode purposefully down the hall.

“Sire?” Leon inquired again several minutes later when it became clear Arthur was not headed either to his room or to the main hall.

“We’re going to the library.” Arthur had had a chance to regain his equilibrium and his voice was cold and steady. “I need to find a scribe to compose a grant of amnesty for a poor old woman’s dead niece.” This shut Leon up and Arthur’s mouth twisted in grim satisfaction. In the next moment, the satisfaction was gone replaced by an unendurable mix of shame, anger and frustration.

“Oh, damn it to hell.” Arthur muttered not three paces further on and then he swung around to face the knights following him. He moved so abruptly that both Leon and Percival took an involuntary step backward.

“Leon, I should not have spoken to you as I did earlier.” Arthur had known Leon most of his life and in all that time Leon had never once lied to him, not even trivially-- ‘Are you sure about that? Just because you never caught him?’--. Arthur viciously thrust the intrusive thought away. He was sure and he would not punish Leon just because he wanted to prove to himself that Leon would accept it. “I apologize.”

With that Arthur turned back and resumed his brisk pace. Bewildered Percival looked at Leon in case he had any idea what had just happened but Leon’s reaction only deepened the mystery. Leon looked hurt and then profoundly sad as though rather than having apologized Arthur had just told him that he was disappointed in him. But Leon quickly regained his composure and he hurried after Arthur to resume his place by his side. Percival hurried to and he told himself that he would try to talk to Leon later. Suddenly, it seemed like everyone was so unhappy.  
*  
As soon as Merlin left Arthur the day before, he went in search of Gawain. The knight was easy to find, already making friends among the brewers and their daughters. The knight was delighted by the prospect of an afternoon together. Gawain’s enthusiasm left Merlin overcome with a sudden overwhelming gratitude.

The next hour found Gawain and Merlin on the shore of a medium sized pond less than two miles from the Manor, borrowed fishing rods set and wine skins within easy reach. The afternoon was beautiful, warm without being hot with only a few lazy clouds floating through a bright blue sky. The hustle and bustle at the Manor was too far away to intrude and the two friends sat for a while in companionable silence.

“So, are you going to show me some magic?” Gawain asked after a while turning to Merlin with a toothy grin. “I bet you’re dying to.”

Merlin did in fact want to show off some of his magic and with a grin of his own he waved his hand. The still surface of the pond began to ripple. Soon the translucent shape of a horse began to take form rising up out of the water. The horse of water reared and shook its main scattering droplets through the air and blowing mist from its nostrils.

“Oi! You’ll scare the fish.” Gawain complained but there was a note of genuine awe in his voice. 

Merlin chuckled and withdrew his magic from the water. With a splash the water that had been the horse splashed back into the pond. Next Merlin started drawing pictures of different animals in the air with colored light. Gawain watched fascinated.

“You’re very strong aren’t you?” Gawain finally asked not bothering to take his eyes from the miniature gold bear that was stomping around them, beating his chest and snarling.

“Yeah.” Merlin confessed. He was surprised. The last time he had spoken about his magic with Gawain he had got the impression that the knight didn’t really want any details. Merlin wondered how much of the saga of his magic Gawain meant to ask about. He also wondered how much he would tell him.

“What you did with the apple tree when that woman came forward- that was magnificent.”

“Thanks.” Merlin murmured embarrassed. He still felt self-conscious when he thought about all those searching, judging eyes on him.

“I can see why some people might be scared, though. I mean- not by the tree but by that kind of power.” Gawain continued. He had been doing a lot of thinking since he had seen Merlin grow the apple tree. He hadn’t wanted to think but it had happened. 

A few years ago Gawain would never have been frightened by magic- no matter how powerful. He hadn’t been afraid of anything. Any threat, from dragons to dying alone, hadn’t meant much to him. Since receiving his knighthood, though, he had found that there were plenty of things to fear. He was afraid of losing the friendships he had been developing with his fellow knights. He was afraid that something terrible would happen to Merlin- because the man really did charge blindly into trouble. He had been afraid that he would somehow fail in his duty and that people would be hurt because of it. Gods forgive him; he was even afraid that Arthur would be disappointed in him and decide he had made a mistake giving him a knighthood. Most of all, though, he feared going back to a life where there was nothing to fear because he had nothing he cared about losing.

“Gawain-“

“Merlin, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re a hero. I really believe that. I’m just saying, though, that I understand that it is complicated.” Gawain was struggling to put his thoughts together and Merlin, who didn’t have any idea what Gawain was trying to get at, gazed at him intently. “I mean, you pretended not to have magic which is sort of like me pretending not to be a noble. Well, yeah, it’s different clearly- but it’s kind of the same.”

“Being a noble doesn’t mean anything. It’s just an accident of birth- it’s not like anyone deserves what their born into, whether its power and nobility or poverty and deprivation. So being a noble doesn’t mean anything. Or it shouldn’t but it sort of does because being a noble means a person thinks of himself as special as just a little bit better than everyone else. It starts to seem like having power is the same as deserving power. After all, why would someone have been born to it if it wasn’t meant to be?” 

“A noble is no better than anyone else, obviously. I know that, but it is hard not to believe it just a little bit- especially since so many people are willing to treat you like you’re better. And there is a kind of logic to it too. I mean in exchange for all of the privileges and power and trust that you’re given; you’re supposed to take care of people. You’re supposed to protect them, defend them, seek their good. In a way it’s almost a fair deal- kind of like a contract- as long as everyone lives up to their obligations.”

“People don’t live up to their obligations, though. And the people who were supposed to protect you and care for you turn their backs. When you see something like that then the disillusionment hits hard. You want to chuck the whole system because that’s how much it hurts. You forget, though, that there were people that you were supposed to look after and take care of. All you can think about is how the person you trusted let you down and you don’t think at all about the people who trusted you. So you go off on your own and for a long time nothing matters.” 

“Then, suddenly, you’re among people you realize you care about very much except they don’t know who you are- not really. Because even though it shouldn’t matter who your parents were or how you grew up, it does. You’ve also regained some of the power and privilege and trust that you scorned before- except this time you feel like maybe you do deserve it- just a little. You know the people around you have earned it. They worked hard and overcame almost insurmountable obstacles to have something that you were born having but tossed away as worthless. You want to tell them the truth but you’ve already shot your mouth off about how terrible the thing you are is- and you are a little bit ashamed because you did walk away from your obligations once. It would be awful if the people who offered you friendship when you needed friends believed that you lied because you thought you were better than they were; that everything you’d done had just been sort of a lark- like you’ve been playacting for amusement. People already think I’m a bit frivolous and the longer it goes the harder it gets. 

“So what I’m trying to say is that I know it’s hard for you right now. Because I’m your friend I wish it were easier but I also think I can see why maybe it has to be hard for a little while.” Gawain finished and took several long swallows from his wineskin.

“Gawain, you know we all care about you. Everyone can see what a great knight you are.” Merlin was flabbergasted. He had known Gawain was a noble pretending to be a commoner and he knew there was a painful history behind that choice but he hadn’t really expected that Gawain would think about it that much. Gawain was always so devil-may-care. 

“I’m so glad I met you, Merlin. I think it had to be the best thing to ever happen to me.” Gawain smiled and put an arm around Merlin’s neck drawing him into a hug. Merlin hugged back, marveling at how easy it was for the knight to show affection. 

Merlin had been comforted by Gawain’s confession. Their circumstances were very different and Merlin knew he had much more on his conscience than Gawain, but he felt a little less isolated- like Gawain could understand a little of what he had been through. It also helped Merlin understand why Gawain had been so determined to defend him even when the knight knew he didn’t have a full account of Merlin’s action.

The two spent the remainder of the afternoon at the pond. They didn’t catch anything, which was just as well since there was a surfeit of food being prepared for the feast. They arrived back at the manor after dinner had begun and the two were easily able to beg some food from the kitchen where they chatted contentedly into the evening. An hour after the final course had been served; Merlin bade Gawain good night and went to check on Arthur.

The King was in his room seated at the table writing a letter. He looked up when Merlin came in. The sorcerer had just remembered to knock but he already had the door part way open so it might not have counted. Arthur must have had a good day because he seemed more relaxed than he had in a while. They exchanged greetings but that was all. In the time before Merlin’s confession, Arthur would have started talking about his day or Merlin would have shared whatever gossip he might have heard but Arthur was quiet and Merlin wasn’t sure he felt confident enough to intrude on the silence. 

Merlin puttered about the room, building the fire and finding random things to straighten. When Merlin had puttered all that he could putter he stopped to look at Arthur- trying to read his face. He wanted to find the right thing to do or say that would move them nearer to the easy friendship they had shared but Merlin could think of nothing. 

Feeling eyes upon him, Arthur looked up. For several long moments the two stared at each other. Then Arthur said, “Good night, Merlin.” 

It was a dismissal. Merlin felt his shoulders slump. It wasn’t unexpected. Still Merlin remembered when he and Arthur would lie side by side and just talk to each other. Didn’t Arthur miss that? Even a little bit? In the darkness, Merlin thought it was just possible that he could find whatever words he needed to make things better. But Arthur walked warily around Merlin now and his vigilance was at its greatest where he used to feel most safe.

Now, Arthur- who Merlin knew as endlessly demanding- never wanted anything from Merlin. The incessant orders to do this or that little thing had completely stopped. Arthur hadn’t told Merlin to do so much as pass the salt recently. Whenever Merlin asked if there was anything Arthur wanted him to do Arthur refused with words that were too carefully chosen. Well, that was not entirely true. Arthur had asked Merlin to grow the apple tree. And he had accepted when Merlin asked if there were anything he could do to demonstrate the usefulness of his magic. But that was about what Camelot needed not about Arthur wanted.

At first, Merlin just assumed that this was another symptom of the new- but ultimately temporary- distance between them but then it occurred to him that Arthur wasn’t giving orders because Arthur wasn’t at all certain Merlin would obey. 

It was one thing for Merlin- the absent-minded, clumsy but always loyal manservant- to forget a chore, complain his way out of a task or even answer back once in a while (though- Merlin thought a little bitterly- he had never done nearly as much of that as some people seemed to think) and it was another for Merlin- the powerful sorcerer, dragonlord, and habitual liar- to disobey or disregard Arthur. Arthur was trying to avoid giving Merlin the opportunity to flout his authority and the fact that Arthur believed he needed to do that bent something inside Merlin into a sharp and painful pressure in his chest.

“Good night, Sire. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Merlin said then turned and left the room.  
*  
The next morning Merlin asked again to be given the day to himself if he wasn’t needed. Arthur asked him what he intended to do and Merlin answered honestly that he just wanted to wander around a bit- maybe write a letter to his mother. Arthur considered and Merlin could see that he was not so much considering whether or not to grant Merlin the time but rather he was deciding if he believed Merlin’s explanation. In the end, Arthur had told him to enjoy his day and to be sure to let him know if anything happened that he might want to know about. 

Sir Ector’s library was a single small room. There were not many books but the librarian or perhaps he was just a scribe gave Merlin parchment and ink freely when he was asked. The scribe even offered to write the letter at Merlin’s dictation. Reading and writing letters, contracts and other documents for Sir Ector’s folk was a part of the man’s normal duties. Upon learning that Merlin was literate, the scribe eagerly made inquiries about Merlin’s education. When Merlin explained he had been a physician’s apprentice, the scribe jumped up from behind his table to show Merlin a medical text and two books on herb lore. Merlin made admiring sounds and that was enough to earn him a full tour of the nearly thirty books of which the scribe was custodian. Merlin felt obliged by the man’s enthusiasm to listen attentively.

Later, when the scribe still flushed with contented pride was back at his table, Merlin composed his letter to his mother. As with all Merlin’s letters home, this one contained numerous light-hearted anecdotes about the court. He wrote Hunith that Gaius was a bit tired lately and that he would be getting more help with his daily routine. He explained that this would be a good thing because Gaius would have time to do more writing and teaching. He told her that Gwen was well and very happy. She was already becoming a great queen. He hesitated a long time before writing about Arthur. Merlin never wrote anything he feared would upset his mother and he never wrote anything that would compromise Camelot if it were to fall into the wrong hands. Finally, he wrote that the King was well and had agreed to expand Merlin’s duties to take better advantage of Merlin’s talents. He wrote that he was still adjusting to the change but that he was very happy and was looking forward to his new responsibilities. He signed the letter lovingly and left it with the scribe to handoff to one of the messengers that was always flitting back and forth between Arthur and Camelot.

After leaving the library Merlin decided to go for a walk. He spent too much time the last few weeks on horseback. On three sides of Sir Ector’s manor there were fields, meadows and a scattering of dwellings. On the fourth side there was a forest and that was the direction Merlin headed. He had not gone far when he was distracted by several female voices chatting amiably. When Merlin moved closer, he saw four young women with baskets collecting mushrooms.

“Can I lend a hand?” Merlin called out without really thinking about it. The women who appeared to range in age between fifteen and twenty stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Merlin began to wonder if he might have something on his face or if his trousers were on backwards. He was ready to make a quick apology and dash away when one of the women, the one who looked to be the oldest, smiled at him.

“We’d welcome the help.” She replied and at her words the other girls seemed to relax. “The cook at the manor has something ambitious planned for this evening but it will take a lot of mushrooms.”

The girls introduced themselves. There was Brenna who was the oldest and her sister Winifred and then there was Nora and finally Tangwen who appeared to be very shy and kept close to Winifred and Nora. Merlin introduced himself and allowed the girls to believe without actually saying that he was from a nearby village and had been drawn to the manor by the excitement of the King’s visit. He didn’t really think about it as lying. It just made it easier to avoid what would doubtless end up being countless questions about the court.

The time passed pleasantly. All the time Merlin had spent searching for herbs at Gaius’s behest had given him a good eye and he was able to find plenty to contribute. He occasionally came across a plant he did not recognize and would ask Brenna if she knew anything about it. Usually she did and Merlin was pleased to be useful and to learn a few things that might someday allow him to impress Gaius with his independently acquired knowledge. 

Despite their initial hesitation the girls quickly grew used to Merlin’s presence and returned to their previous animated conversation. Merlin had had to suppress a smile when he realized they were talking about the knights. Gawain had made one of the strongest impressions and Nora and Winifred were discussing his charms in detail.

“He has the loveliest eyes, and I do believe he winked at me.” Nora said dreamily.

“Yes, you and half the women in this holding. Like as not he’s winked at just as many at all the other places he’s been through.” Brenna commented, Merlin would have said cynically except that she was largely accurate.

“Well, go on then which one did you like?” Nora challenged. Brenna gave the question some thought. “I’d choose the dark one. He has clever hands, I can tell.” The girls giggled and Merlin smiled. The knights would find it gratifying to learn how much they had been admired.

For his part Merlin knew that he had probably been around the knights at least part of the time they were being eyed by the village women but they apparently hadn’t noticed him. Merlin realized that he didn’t particularly mind. He didn’t think he would like to be speculated about. He also liked the way he could fit in so easily with the village folk. There was freedom in it. He thought of Arthur’s occasional attempts to take in the mood of the people. It never went well. Arthur could not pretend to be someone different. He was unalterably himself. It was his great strength but it also made life more difficult for him.

“What about you, Tanny?” Winifred asked her friend encouragingly. “If you could have your pick of the lot, which one would you bring home.”

“I like the tall one.” Tangwen said almost too softly for Merlin to hear.

“The one with the curly blond hair?” Nora asked.

Tangwen shook her head. “No, the one with the very short hair.”

“The one with all the muscles? Oh, my dear, he’d crush you.” Nora exclaimed.

Tangwen blushed and looked away.

“It’s all right, Tanny.” Brenna soothed going over to rub circles on Tangwen’s back. “It’s all just make-believe. A knight wants a lady. Not one of them would ever be interested in any of us- except perhaps Nora’s choice but he would not stay interested for long.”

“But I’ve heard that some of the knights are now common born, same as you and me.” Winifred said. “If a peasant can be a knight why can’t a peasant become a lady?”

“I shouldn’t want to be a lady.” Nora answered. “Sitting about brushing my hair, not able to go out in the sun or chase the baker’s boy.”

“Yes, but it is important that it’s possible. The Queen was a servant. It means anyone can become anything.” Winifred pressed.

“No. It just means they think they can.” Brenna sounded annoyed. “Do you know how many foolish boys are dreaming of knighthoods now. Where will the rest of us be when they all run off to make their fortunes? Where will they be when they learn they need more that a brave heart to survive in that world?”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Nora said. “You don’t want to run away and be a knight, do you, Merlin?”

“No!” Merlin answered honestly. He was surprised, he had thought he been forgotten.

“Well? So Merlin has sense.” Brenna acknowledged. “But that’s more than I can say for many of the men of my acquaintance.”

“What about Peter, then?” Winifred demanded. “He’s hates the work of the farm. He’s not suited to it and there is no joy in it for him.”

“So? He’d be even less suited to knighthood.” Brenna shot back.

“Yes, but he could go to the City and, and . . .”

“And what? Draw his pictures?” Brenna went over to squeeze Winifred’s arm. “You know that can’t work. It’s better if he stays here, where his friends and family can look after him.”

Merlin wondered what sort of pictures Peter drew. Gaius would dearly love to have someone able to accurately render the herbs and flowers he described in his books, decent mapmakers were scarce and there were a number of nobles who liked to carry pictures of their loved ones about concealed in lockets. Merlin determined he’d make some quiet inquiries.

The girls moved on to new subjects and Merlin joined in occasionally. Winifred and Nora sang a few songs and forced Merlin to join in the chorus, which he was actually pleased enough to do- though he made objections. An hour passed before Brenna finally called a halt to the mushroom hunt.

“Would you care to join us for lunch?” Brenna asked Merlin. “If you come back with us we will share the coins we get from the Manor. You’ve more than earned it.” Merlin accepted the first invitation but declined the second. 

Nora found a small clearing filled with wildflowers and the girls began to unpack what they had brought for lunch. Merlin was pleased to see that the girls had brought several dishes that must have been left over from last evening’s feast. It was much better than the bread and cheese he had been expecting. The group continued to chat amiably. 

Merlin had enjoyed the girls’ company and as lunch was ending a fancy took him to demonstrate his appreciation. Slowly at first and then with greater speed several of the daisies and violets that littered the clearing began to gather themselves together. Nora was the first to notice and she made a little gasp that drew the attention of the other three. Merlin smiled to himself as the flowers which had woven themselves into a pretty crown floated through the air toward Tangwen. Merlin was just on the point of having his magic set the crown of flowers on Tnagwen’s head when he noticed something in the girl’s expression.

Tangwen was terrified. Merlin’s distraction had caused the crown of flowers to pause in midair. In the same moment the flowers stopped Tangwen moved. In one swift motion she was on her feet and running. She didn’t make a sound- she just ran as fast as she could without looking back.

“Tanny, wait. It’s all right.” Nora called, but she was already up and running after Tangwen as though not expecting her friend to listen. Winifred did not bother to call out. She spared one short disdainful look for Merlin and then she too was running after Tangwen. Merlin got up to follow them. He wanted to apologize for frightening the girl and explain to her that there was nothing to be afraid of, that magic was nothing to fear. 

“Let her be.” Brenna advised catching Merlin’s arm. “Nora and Winifred will look after her.” When it seemed as though Merlin had abandoned his plan to run after Tangwen, Brenna let go of his arm and started packing away the remains of their lunch.

“I didn’t mean to frighten her.” Merlin apologized. Thinking back, he probably should have given some warning or perhaps made his first offering of flowers to Brenna. Tangwen had been so shy and yet the magic had seemed to want to go to her.

“Of course you didn’t.” Brenna acknowledged. “But you shouldn’t just do that.” Brenna waved her hand to indicate magic.

“It’s not a bad or shameful thing.” Merlin felt defensive and he was a little disappointed in the girls. There had been nothing threatening in what he had done. He understood that magic had been forbidden for a long time and that people were nervous about it but he had hoped for a better reaction. “It is lawful now.”

“Yes, it is.” Brenna agreed. “You should still warn a person. And you shouldn’t pretend you’re from around here when you’re not.”

Merlin considered that this was probably fair but he still felt let down by Tangwen’s extreme reaction. “You weren’t frightened.”

“No, but Tanny’s shy.” There was something in the way Brenna avoided his eyes suddenly that led Merlin to believe there was something he wasn’t seeing. 

“Why is Tangwen shy?” Merlin asked. He had picked up the wreath of flowers he had offered to Tangwen and began unweaving the stems.

“It’s not my place to say.” Brenna answered after a long pause.

“I don’t want to frighten people, Brenna.” Merlin said reasonably. “I’d like to know why a girl ran away screaming just because I tried to give her flowers. Is the fear of magic so deeply ingrained here?”

“She didn’t scream.” Brenna murmured. “She wouldn’t.”

“Sorry?” Merlin was confused.

“I suppose the story is well-known among us here, so I won’t be revealing any secrets.” Brenna relented. “Tangwen’s mother was an enchantress.”

“Was she executed for sorcery?” Merlin asked, thinking about how that would terrify a child.

“No. Or not so any of us know.” Brenna had finished cleaning up the remains of their lunch and now she sat with her back against a tree and her arms wrapped around her knees. “Tangwen was born in Mercia. Her mother practiced her craft openly. They traveled from village to village and Tangwen’s mother worked whatever bit of witchcraft was wanted.” The cadence of her words led Merlin to believe she was reciting an old and familiar tale.

“From her earliest memories Tangwen’s mother would enchant her. The witch would do a spell to keep Tangwen quiet while her mother was working or she’d magic her to do her chores. It did not last long and it saved Tangwen a beating or at least sometimes it did. As time went on, though, and Tangwen grew and started roaming away to play with the village children whenever she got the chance the witch used her power more and more often. Days would go by when Tnagwen would have no control over her body. Tangwen tried to be as rebellious as she could. She ran away as often as she got the chance but she never got far.

For Tangwen, that was life until she got to be around ten or eleven. Then she started to notice that if she was careful and deliberately kept her thoughts on something else then she could move a little of her own accord even while enchanted. In the beginning Tangwen could do no more than let a plate she was washing slip from her hands to break on the ground. Tangwen was so pleased she did nothing but break plates or drop laundry as much as she could but she quickly came to the conclusion that she must not let her mother realize the power of her spell had lessened.”

“So while her mother slept or her attention was elsewhere and Tangwen was charmed, Tangwen practiced taking back control of her own body. It took more than a year but Tangwen eventually found that her mother’s magic did not hold her as it once had.”

“Then, there came a day when her mother was out visiting some folk in need of healing potions. As was usual before she left the witch enchanted to Tangwen to look after the animals but otherwise be still while she was gone. As soon as she was alone, Tangwen began taking slow and careful steps away from the wagon she had grown up in. The further Tangwen went the easier she could move until she finally managed a stumbling run.”

“Two days later her the mother found her sleeping under some leaves not too far off the road. From then on the witch worked some new spell and Tangwen was as helpless as she had ever been.”

“Tangwen’s near escape must have frightened the witch, though. Or perhaps she finally decided the girl was more trouble than she was worth because she traded her to a tinker for two glass beakers and a mortar and pestle made from quartz.”

“The tinker had a smattering of his own magic but he was nothing like the witch. He used his fists and several lengths of rope to keep Tangwen cowed. Eventually, though, he got lazy. Tangwen would cower and answer meekly and the tinker stopped being careful about tying her up. She ran again. This time she was near the border to Camelot, though, and the tinker dared not follow her across because he had made no secret of his magic thinking to impress the villiens on Mercia’s side of the border.”

“Eventually Tangwen came here. She just wandered in from the woods half starved. Nora’s people found her, fed her then cleaned her up to go see Sir Ector to see what might be done. She told her story and Sir Ector said that she could stay here and that she would be provided for until she could provide for herself. She lives with Nora’s family now.”

“That was more than a year ago but Nora says Tangwen still cries most nights but if someone goes to comfort her she’ll go all still and she won’t move or speak until she’s let be to cry by herself.”

“I didn’t know.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Brenna agreed. “You were trying to be nice. Even Tanny will be able to see that once she settles down. She’s a smart girl. She just panicked.”

“What will Tangwyn do now that magic is legal in Camelot?” Merlin asked overwhelmed with compassion for the girl.

“Stay here, of course. We don’t get many visitors and Sir Ector wouldn’t let anyone settle on his land who would be unkind to her.” Brenna replied. “We’ll take care of her.”

“I just don’t understand.” Merlin admitted now that he felt reassured that Tangwyn was loved and protected by her community. “How could anyone do those things to anyone, especially someone they loved?”

“Little by little, I guess.” Brenna answered with a sort of sadness that made Merlin think she had spent a long time thinking about the question.

“Look, Brenna, will you tell Tangwen I’m sorry.” Merlin asked earnestly. “Not just because I scared her but . . . . the whole thing. I wish magic could have kept her safe. There should have been magic to keep her safe.”

“Here,” Brenna offered Merlin one of the daisies that- in his nervousness- he had removed from the magically woven garland. “Put this back together and I’ll give it to her.”

“Do you think she’ll take it?” Merlin took the daisy and in a few moments he held a circlet of many multi-colored flowers. Merlin wasn’t even sure he recognized them all but they were beautiful.

“Maybe.” Brenna’s eyes widened as she watched the daisies and violets transform. “She might put an iron nail through it, or drown it in a swiftly moving river or bury it with salt water. Or maybe she’ll take it for what it is- a kind gesture from a friendly but rash stranger who meant her only good.”

“Thank you.” Merlin said sincerely, then blushing, he quickly created three more garlands- less exotic than Tangwen’s but still beautiful and handed them to Brenna.

Brenna laughed and took the flowers. “Will you walk with me back to the manor? I can’t carry everything on my own.”

“All right.” Merlin agreed. He tried to smile. He was glad to have made up with Brenna but Tangwen’s story troubled him deeply. Merlin had seen firsthand some of the evil wrought by magic. He knew what horror magic could do in the hands of those driven mad by hatred but the story of Tangwen was different. There were no ruthless kings, or avenging sorcerers, no kingdoms at stake or grand destinies to protect. There was just a woman tormenting and abusing a person she should have loved and protected because she could, because it was easy, because that’s what happened to powerful sorcerers who did not find their magic’s purpose and cling to it with their entire soul.  
*  
“What’s wrong?” Arthur demanded as soon as he came through the door of his chamber after the conclusion of Sir Ector’s second feast. Merlin was sitting by the fire with a polishing cloth in hand surrounded by Arthur’s armor. Cabal was curled at his feet. The scene was almost domestic except for the strange expression on Merlin’s face as Arthur entered the room.

“Nothing.” Merlin replied, a little taken aback by Arthur’s alarm.

“Merlin,” Arthur’s back stiffened and his eyes hardened but his voice was mild as he said, “tell me what has happened.”

Merlin blinked owlishly for a few moments. He wasn’t accustomed to Arthur insisting about this sort of thing. He was on the point of denying that anything had happened because nothing really had- or at least nothing that Merlin usually would share. He stopped, though, taking in Arthur’s expression which was equal parts anxiety and determination. The king was clearly worried that there was an impending magical calamity. The best way to set his mind at ease would be to tell Arthur what was in fact troubling him but the habit of secrecy was strong.

“Nothing happened. I just saw something sad today.” Merlin compromised.

“Tell me?” Arthur moved into the room and took the seat across from Merlin by the fire. Cabal had gotten up to snuffle a greeting into Arthur’s hand. The King had relaxed a little but there was still tension in his shoulders and tightness around his mouth.

Sighing Merlin launched into the story of his day, though he still felt reluctant. Merlin could happily talk for hours but he realized he apparently had trouble talking about his feelings. He was surprised by this. He had assumed it was necessity that had held his tongue before.

Against his better judgment, Arthur found himself charmed by the idea of Merlin and four village girls in the forest collecting mushrooms. The man really couldn’t stop himself from trying to help people- even in the smallest of ways. Arthur snorted when Merlin came to the part where he thought it would be a good idea to present his companions with magically woven garlands of flowers.

“Right. I’m a girl, I know.” Merlin said with a mix of indulgence and exasperation.

Arthur shrugged and his mood darkened. He remembered teasing Merlin. It had been fun, easy, even affectionate. It always left him feeling pleasantly smug but also somehow conspiratorial as though there was a secret to what he and Merlin were saying but no one else knew the code. Of course, Merlin teased back but it usually ended with Merlin smiling with the same mix of indulgence and exasperation that he displayed now. Arthur had translated this from their secret code as: ‘I don’t mind letting you win if it makes you happy.’ And it had made Arthur happy—not the winning, not exactly, but the idea that Merlin wanted to make him happy. Now though Arthur had to wonder if Merlin had just given up the banter because he had decided it would be less trouble to strike back at Arthur with magic. The idea made him queasy and he resolutely decided not to think about it. 

Thoughts of how he and Merlin had bantered quickly evaporated as the story continued. It was grim indeed- although Arthur had heard elements of it before. Uther collected such stories. What struck Arthur in this telling was how alone Tangwen had been. At some point there had to have been witnesses. Someone must have noticed. Why hadn’t anyone gone to the authorities? The village elders or the local landholders, where were they when all this was happening? Didn’t they know who came and went through their territory or across their lands? Or maybe they did know- maybe they knew and decided it wasn’t their business. Why bother risking a witch’s wrath for a child?

It should have been stopped. Arthur’s blood burned with indignation. It should never have been allowed to go so far. At the first sign of such an abuse of her powers, the very first time the witch decided it was simply too easy not to use her magic and never mind the consequences she should have been stopped. 

Yet, how? The pleasing indignation left him. How did you defeat power like that? What could be done? What was there besides his father’s answer? Even Merlin had crossed lines. Merlin, helpful, clumsy, well-intentioned Merlin had crossed a big line. He had come tripping merrily back though- good intentions as pristine as ever. Had he even realized what he had done? 

Arthur tried not to think about it. It would put him off for hours if he thought about it- but it was already too late. The voice was back. The panicked, frightened, angry, desperate voice that had plagued Arthur nearly every day for more than a month was back: ‘There is only Uther’s answer. Merlin is the best of them and you know what he did. He’d do it again if he thought it was the shortest way round a problem and you couldn’t stop him. The only limit, the only restraint any of them can understand is power and for Merlin that means there is no limit at all. Do you think he will stop just because you say ‘no’?’ 

‘I have staked everything that he will.’ Arthur confessed to the voice. ‘I have gambled my kingdom’s future that those with magic and those without can live by the same rules, accept the same boundaries.’

‘Yes you have, Arthur Pendragon.’ The voice was bitter as well as angry now. ‘And there will be no hell deep enough for you if you are wrong.’

“Arthur?” Arthur opened his eyes to see Merlin gazing at him. “I know. It’s horrible.” Merlin muttered after seeing Arthur’s expression.

“What happened to the girl wasn’t your fault, Merlin.” That was true.

“I know.” Merlin sighed heavily and threw his hands into the air rattling the armor in his lap and waking Cabal. “I’m just so tired of sorcerers turning out to be terrible human beings.”

“You’re not a terrible person, Merlin.” Arthur offered because he really did believe in Merlin’s goodness. That was one of the reasons it was so hard for him to figure out how to deal with the things Merlin had done that had hurt him.

Merlin raised his eyebrows and watched Arthur waiting for him to take it back. But, Arthur didn’t take it back.

“So, how was your day?” Merlin asked after a while with a nervous little laugh.

Arthur grimaced.

“Not good, then?” Merlin was surprised. He would have thought tramping around Sir Ector’s holding and being adored by its inhabitants would have suited Arthur very well.

“Most of it was fine. Ector has the loveliest goshawk. He calls her Cornelia like the mother of the Gracchi.”

“And the part of it that wasn’t fine?”

“It won’t cheer you up.” Arthur commented but he already knew that he would tell Merlin. It was a little pathetic how much of a struggle it was not to confide in the man.

“Please tell me.” 

So, Arthur did. When Arthur was done Merlin shook his head. He gave Arthur a small smile that he intended to convey sympathy. Merlin couldn’t think of anything to say, though so after a while he took up a piece of the armor piled around him and resumed polishing. After a few minutes, Merlin became aware that Arthur was watching him intently.

“Have I missed a spot?” Merlin held up the couter he had been working on as though for inspection.

“Why are you doing that?” 

“People expect the king to be shiny.” Merlin answered with a wide smile.

The corners of Arthur’s mouth quirked up for just a moment. “I mean: why are you doing it now that you don’t have to pretend?”

“I’m not pretending, Arthur.” Merlin was hurt. He knew that he wasn’t the world’s greatest manservant but he did his best and he usually managed to get the important things right. Then it struck him. “Well, I was . . . the magic, yeah. But I wasn’t pretending- not the way you mean. I told you, I’m happy to be your servant. I meant that. Obviously it’s a lot of work and I don’t just mean the chores. You don’t make it easy. In fact, sometimes I think you go out of your way to make it difficult. But Arthur, I wasn’t pretending.” 

Arthur shrugged and wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes. 

Merlin felt frustration bubble up inside him. Things had slowly been getting better between them; Merlin believed that. It wasn’t like it had been but their interaction nearly as strained as it was in the beginning, at least, most of the time. Once in a while, though, once in a while . . . Merlin didn’t like to think about the way Arthur looked at him once in a while. Yet, despite their fitful progress Arthur was still struggling to get his thick head around the idea that Merlin hadn’t lied about everything. 

A lot of the time they had spent together hadn’t had anything to do with magic. They had been near constant companions for years and in all the hurly-burly of their everyday lives Merlin had been honest. They had been through so much together and Merlin’s secret magic was only one part of that. In all that time, Merlin had never thought anything he’d done for Arthur was beneath him. He was happy to take care of Arthur- grateful. He couldn’t imagine his life any other way- he didn’t want to.

Yet, now it seemed as though Arthur always had his guard up. It was almost as if Arthur were frightened except that that would be absurd. Arthur was the bravest man he knew. There was nothing for him to be afraid of, anyway. There was nothing that could threaten Arthur because a powerful sorcerer- the most powerful sorcerer to ever live- would never allow any harm to come to him. 

Arthur should feel safe. He should be happy. Could he not bring himself to acknowledge that Merlin might actually be useful to him? Was it too much to ask that Arthur should think of the good things that had come of Merlin’s magic? Arthur had all Merlin’s power at his command. There was nothing to stand in the way of his destiny as the Once and Future King. Why couldn’t Arthur just see that? Merlin desperately wanted to explain, but it felt like explaining had been what had gotten them to this point. 

The distance in Arthur’s eyes almost made Merlin wish he had not revealed the extent of his power. Arthur was meant to be confident with a liberal helping of arrogant. He was supposed to be in control, bright, shining like the sun. Even when Arthur had cause to worry or doubt he still looked out at the world as though he knew how much the world welcomed him, how much the world needed him. Now Arthur seemed less certain of his place, less certain of himself and it made everyone uneasy. Merlin was finding that he had liked it better when Arthur might question Merlin’s competence but was certain of his loyalty than when Arthur was convinced of Merlin’s power but cautious of his allegiance. 

Suddenly that thought reminded Merlin of something that had been nagging at him off and on over the past few weeks. It had seemed almost inconsequential at the time but more and more Merlin felt that despite the painfully long conversation he and Arthur had had when he had revealed his magic something had been missing. Some things had been left unsaid.

Putting aside the couter, Merlin rose from his chair and went down on one knee. “Sire?”

Arthur had been staring off into space but he turned at the sound of Merlin’s voice. When he saw Merlin his face contorted “Get up.” 

“Arthur,“ Merlin stayed where he was. He had meant to do this earlier but it had been pushed to the back of his mind. “I-“

“Get up.” Arthur repeated, cutting Merlin off. When it seemed that Merlin still would not obey, Arthur got up himself and strode toward the door.

“All right!” Merlin called when it finally registered that Arthur really intended to just walk out of the room.

Arthur paused and stood with his back toward Merlin. He waited until he heard the slight rustling that would indicate that Merlin was back in his chair. After that he forced his expression into something close to neutral and returned to his previous place. 

“Can I at least ask why?” He tried to conceal it but his hurt was obvious. There was no way to understand what had just happened except as a clear and personal rejection.

The pain in Merlin’s voice tugged at Arthur’s conscience. He had been caught by surprise. If Arthur had had more warning he would have tried to be more polite about refusing Merlin’s oath. Then again, he had been as polite as it was possible to be the first time and Merlin hadn’t let it lie, so how guilty was Arthur meant to feel?

As to Merlin’s question, the wizard had to have some idea. Still, it was not a question Arthur could ignore. The trouble was Arthur wasn’t prepared to give Merlin a full answer because the answer had too much to do with Arthur’s, well, quest- for want of a better word. Arthur had to figure out why he was King- why he ought to be King. He dared not allow Merlin to take this quest from him as he had done so many others.

Arthur should have found the answer before taking on Morgana but he had let himself be lulled by Merlin’s drama with the sword. He had let himself take Merlin’s words of encouragement as his answer. The irony being that those words had come only hours after Merlin had- but Arthur wasn’t going to think about that- not if he could help it. 

No, Arthur had to discover what sort of King he was- what sort of man- by himself. Arthur expected the answer would be painful but that didn’t matter. His greatest fear was that he was no king at all, that he was no more than a complicated mask that Merlin took up from time to time, that he was just another face of Emrys. In his calmer moments Arthur recognized the fear as more like a nightmare than as anything he could truly believe. But the fact remained; Arthur was not the man he had thought he was before he knew about Merlin’s magic. 

“I don’t know who we are yet.” Arthur said finally and it was at least half true. 

Merlin was quiet a long time before saying, “yet.”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t know ‘yet’. So, you’re working on it.”

“I guess so.” Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of Merlin.

“Well, you’ll let me know then.” Merlin had been speaking very matter-of-factly but now his voice became soft. “I will promise whatever you want, Arthur. I’ll give you whatever oaths you need.”

“I don’t want to see you foresworn, Merlin.” The harsh words were out before Arthur had decided if he wanted to speak them. 

Merlin shivered at the implication. It grieved him but he understood why Arthur wouldn’t want any oaths from him until he had earned back some trust. He had hoped . . . well, it didn’t matter what he had hoped. Arthur was still angry with him but that wouldn’t last. Arthur already knew who they were and eventually he’d get round to remembering. Perhaps it was good that they would return to Camelot soon. Merlin was sure there would be plenty of opportunities to prove himself to Arthur there. And Merlin would prove himself. Arthur would not have cause to doubt him again. Things would come out right in the end.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin tried to pour the better part of a decade’s worth of remorse into those words. As sincerely as he meant them, he knew they weren’t enough. Merlin just wished he knew what would be enough.

“I know.” Arthur sounded so sad Merlin could have cried. “I’m sorry too.”


	4. Chapter 4

The book was beautiful, bound in leather with fastenings of precious metal. The thick gilded pages were made from vellum that was as smooth as butter and Merlin could not help but run his fingers over the silky pages. There were pictures as well as writing and though Merlin knew nothing about inks he knew he had not seen such bright color in a drawing before. The book was marvelous and that was even before taking into account its content. 

The book was filled with spells and incantations, but not just that. There were stories of how the spells had been used. How they had been modified to effect a slightly different result. Merlin felt an excited warmth in his belly when he thought that he could look at this book whenever he wanted. Not just this book, there was an entire shelf of books just like this one, just waiting for him.

It had been two days since Arthur’s party returned to Camelot. The homecoming had been a joyful one. Gwen, Kay, Gaius and a few other officials had been waiting for them on the castle steps but all through the town men, women and children had gathered to shout their happiness at the return of their King and his knights. Merlin had watched Arthur closely and he could not help but be pleased that a weight seemed to lift from Arthur’s shoulders as he took in his capitol and found that all was well. 

Guinevere looked radiant as ever but there was something new in her posture and Merlin could see that she had grown in authority since last they’d seen one another. Gaius embraced Merlin at the first opportunity and Merlin hugged back tremendously pleased to see the color in the old man’s cheeks. Gaius then introduced Merlin to the boy who had been helping him over the last few weeks. Merlin smiled and shook the lad’s hand. He seemed keen enough. He must have been taking good care of Gaius for the old man to look so healthy.

Merlin stayed close to Arthur as the King tried to take in everyone’s report at once. Already Merlin was starting to sort in his mind what matters would need Arthur’s attention over the next few days. When the tornado of activity around Arthur subsided briefly Merlin found Gwen beside him gently tugging his arm. “Come with me.” Merlin was reluctant to leave but the Queen tugged his arm again and he had no choice but to go with her.

“Where are we going, my lady?” Merlin asked as Gwen propelled him through the hallways. The Queen did not blush or shake her head in self-deprecation at the honorific as she might have done even a few weeks ago.

“I want to show you something,” was the only answer she would give until they came to a turret. Gwen withdrew a key from the pocket of her skirt and opened the door ushering Merlin in ahead of her.

Bemused, Merlin took in the space. It was a round room with a staircase running around the circumference to a second floor. There was a small stove with wood piled high beside it. The room was furnished with a large table and a small desk. Glass bottles were neatly arranged on a shelf beside the table and herbs had been hung to dry on a line apparently strung for the purpose. Beside the desk there was a shelf of books. On the desk there was a stack of blank parchment, ink and a quill pen.

“What do you think?” Gwen asked anxiously.

“It’s very nice?” Gwen’s mouth compressed into a line for a moment and Merlin realized that he had not given the answer she had hoped for. 

“Come see upstairs.” Gwen urged. Smiling again, she began pulling Merlin up the steps.

The second floor room contained a bed that was perhaps twice the width of Merlin’s cot in Gaius’s room. There was a wardrobe and more shelves. As Merlin looked closer at the shelves, he saw that they were filled with his things. Balinor’s carved dragon perched regally next to a sparkling rock that Merlin had picked up on one of the hunting trips Arthur had forced him to go on. It was all there: the button from his mother’s dress and the shard of pottery. His entire magpie’s nest was artfully arranged all around him. 

The queen watched Merlin expectantly.

“Gaius helped me move everything.” Gwen said quietly. “And he had advice on the things you might want downstairs.” Merlin was speechless.

‘We- Gaius and I- don’t want you to get the impression you weren’t wanted with Gaius anymore- you know Gaius loves you like a son. It was just while you were gone, I thought it was a good idea that someone stay with Gaius to look after him and Dickon has done such a marvelous job- Not that you didn’t take excellent care of Gaius because you absolutely did. Dickon, though, is very eager to take up medicine and it just made sense to let him move his things in with Gaius. And for you, well, you should have your own space. You know, for your work- experiments and the like and this seemed like the perfect place. What do you think?” Gwen asked again trying to bite her tongue on her old habit of tripping over her words.

“It’s wonderful.” Merlin replied honestly. Wandering around the room, Merlin took in the thick blanket on the bed. He opened the wardrobe and found that his clothes had been supplemented with several new shirts and a new pair of trousers. The room was far beyond anything he had ever expected he would be able to call his own. For a moment, Merlin was tempted to tease Guinevere for giving in to the cliché of wizards in towers- except that it was really a very nice tower indeed. Gwen watched Merlin’s explorations with a smile big enough to split her face.

“Does Arthur know?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask.

“Of course. We wanted it to be a surprise. He was the one who said it ought to be a tower room, if one could be found, because that’s what wizards are supposed to like.” Gwen replied and Merlin realized his smile was as big as Gwen’s.

“Let’s go downstairs again. I didn’t really take it in the first time.” All but giggling the Queen and the sorcerer ran down the stairs to explore the small workroom. A workroom that was specifically supposed to be for magic, Merlin reminded himself, as he went over to inspect the books.

“What are these?” Merlin asked his Queen indicating the shelf with an awed expression.

“Oh, those are from the library. There isn’t enough room for them now- and we thought- Arthur and I both- thought that they would be more useful as well as safer if you had them for a while.”

“But, I thought all Camelot’s magic books were burned during the purge.” Merlin had opened the first book and he let the gentle warmth of the magic stored within lap against his fingers.

“Yes, well, Arthur said that if Uther had really meant for books to be destroyed he wouldn’t have told a librarian to do the destroying.” Gwen’s smile had grown wistful.

“Geoffrey hid them?”

“Geoffrey hid them.”

“That’s wonderful.” Merlin would not have believed the old man had it in him.

“I think it must have been hard on Geoffrey, though.” Gwen mused. “It would not have been easy for him to disobey his King and I think he still feels a little guilty.” That didn’t make a bit of sense to Merlin but whatever Geoffrey’s thought process, Merlin was deeply grateful the books had been spared. 

“So, how are things between you and Arthur?” Gwen asked when Merlin was able to tear his eyes from the treasures on the shelf.

Merlin felt some of his pleasure ebb. “I don’t know.” Merlin sighed. “Sometimes I think everything is well on its way to being like it was before- even better than before because the secret was always a barrier between us and it’s not anymore and that feels incredible but other times . . . Gwen, other times . . . I think I may have done something really bad.” The last came out as a whisper.

“What?” Gwen asked as though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer even as she stood beside Merlin and rubbed comforting circles on his back.

“I don’t know.” Merlin said desperately. “It’s not the magic exactly or the secrets although I think it has to do with both. I feel like I ought to know what’s wrong. But, I’ve wracked my brain and except for- well except for what we’ve already talked about I can’t think of anything I’ve done that hasn’t been about trying to help someone- Arthur especially- I’ve only ever tried to keep him safe.”

“Maybe it isn’t anything, then.” Gwen suggested. “Maybe you’re impatient for things to go back to normal and that impatience is making you feel a little guilty.”

“Maybe. I mean, I hope you’re right. It’s just that sometimes it’s like Arthur can’t look at me- like he’d be sick if he had to see my face. And it always seems to happen when I think we are getting close again.” Merlin swallowed hard.

“It may not be anything you’ve done.” Gwen attempted to reassure. She did not question the accuracy of Merlin’s perception. “Arthur has seen magic do terrible things. He’s been taught to hate and fear it. I’m sure he’s trying but it can’t be easy to start over.” 

Merlin wasn’t entirely convinced. He still felt that there was something he was missing, but as he seemed unlikely to figure it out in the near future, he let himself embrace Gwen’s comfort.

“So,” Gwen said after a moment’s silence. “Here you are.” She fished the key to the turret from her skirt pocket and formally offered it to Merlin. Merlin gave a little bow as he accepted the key. They were both grinning again.

“Come have breakfast with us tomorrow.” Gwen invited. “We’ll sort out something. There’s so much to be done, Merlin, and you know you’re meant to be a part of it. You belong here. We all want you to be here- all of us- even Arthur, especially Arthur. You just have to be patient.”

Merlin had gone to breakfast with his King and Queen and he had gone again today. In the afternoon, Merlin would attend several of Arthur’s meetings, much as he had always done. There had been a bit of disagreement over the nature of Merlin’s presence at various events. Arthur had wanted to give Merlin an official position something along the lines of ‘magic advisor’ but Merlin had resisted. Merlin felt he could observe more and cause less disruption if he remained as he was. Merlin wanted ‘Emrys’ to be the magical advisor during very important meetings. People were likely to take an old man more seriously than the harmless and familiar Merlin. Besides Merlin needed to be with Arthur if he was going to keep him safe and the easiest way to do that was to remain a (mostly) simple servant.

It was his magically influenced intuition that urged Merlin to keep ‘Merlin’ and ‘Emrys’ separate. He wasn’t sure if that was because there was still a benefit in keeping the secret from Morgana-if Morgana was even still alive- or if it was merely that Merlin had always been able to move about Camelot without anyone paying attention to where he went or why. No one minded the King’s vaguely daft servant. People would chat with him or ignore him but no one put up their guard around him and no one questioned what he was doing. Merlin was overjoyed to acknowledge his magic but he did not want the magnitude of his power to isolate him or make him politically interesting. Let Emrys do duty as the frightening and mysterious but ultimately benevolent guardian of Camelot and let Merlin be Merlin.

Arthur, on the other hand, wanted no more deception. Now that magic was legal there were bound to be fewer assassination attempts which meant there was no reason for Merlin to feel as though they needed to be constantly tied together. Further, Arthur was already sure that there were at least a handful of people who knew or guessed the truth. Thus, perpetuating the idea that Merlin and Emrys were separate people was a gratuitous lie at a time when trust was greatly needed. 

Gwen, surprising both Merlin and Arthur, was inclined towards Merlin’s point of view. She was experiencing what it was like to go from serving girl to Queen. She wouldn’t have it any other way but the transition was hard and not without a personal cost. A Queen needed to be a public figure but a sorcerer did not. People would understand that a sorcerer’s identity could be kept secret. Some people would need to be told but mostly those were the same people who already knew. Everyone else would be willing to accept that the matter was not their concern.

“If someone confides something to you as Merlin, you can’t throw it in their face as Emrys.” Arthur said on the point of giving in to the combined persuasion of Queen and Sorcerer.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t.” Merlin insisted and so Arthur conceded, though he clearly seemed to feel that Merlin’s moral compass needed recalibrating. Merlin wasn’t sure how to react to that. On the one hand, Merlin felt he understood the difference between right and wrong perfectly well, thank you very much. On the other, Merlin could just about see where being an incredibly powerful sorcerer working in secret might have skewed his perspective in ways he hadn’t realized, so he had let it go.

Coming back to the present, Merlin idly began to turn the pages of his book, letting his eye catch on anything that struck him as interesting. Soon he would begin to look more seriously for spells that would enable communication over distance because that was what he had been specifically asked about. For the moment, though, Merlin reveled in the idea of just reading about magic without urgency and without having to hide. He was in his own room with the door unlocked. He could go out if he wished and read in the courtyard. He didn’t have to sneak or be covert or lie or evade or anything. People would say, ‘Hullo, Merlin. What are you up to?’ And he could answer as loud as you please, ‘Reading about magic. I’m going to practice some spells later. How ‘bout you?’ Merlin hugged himself in pleasure.

“My lord?”

Merlin jerked and spun toward the voice in a stumbling leap. “Alator! You scared the life out of me.” 

“I apologize, my lord.” Alator inclined his head and Merlin tried to slow his frantically thudding heart. Merlin wanted to demand to know why the Catha hadn’t knocked but he refused to start sounding like Arthur just because now he had rooms of his own. “May I speak with you?”

Despite being startled by his sudden appearance, Merlin had been expecting Alator sooner or later. They had been a day away from Camelot when Arthur had received Gwen’s letter describing her meeting with a Catha Druid called Alator.

Gwen recounted that she had asked Gaius if he knew anything about the man or about Druid gatherings but the old Physician had denied having any information. Guinevere ended her letter by commenting that Gaius had seemed upset by the question. 

Arthur had been in a barely contained rage. Merlin had tried to calm him because talking Arthur down came as second nature but he had understood the King’s anger very well.

“Yeah. I mean, yes- but just for a minute. You are not welcome in Camelot, Alator. You will have to leave soon.” Merlin answered.

“Why?” Alator’s substantial eyebrows rose. “Because I practice magic.”

“Because you have practiced kidnapping, torture and espionage.” Merlin was incredulous. 

“I have renounced my association with the Lady Morgana.”

That had been what Merlin had argued on Alator’s behalf to Arthur but the King had not been impressed: ‘So, he isn’t even an honest mercenary!’ Arthur had all but snarled. ‘He agrees to kidnap and torture an old man without bothering to ask why. Then he betrays his paymaster when he suddenly decides he disagrees with her politics.’ Arthur always found disloyalty disappointing.

“Have you renounced her methods?” Merlin let out his breath sadly. “Even if you have, Alator, you can’t just hurt people and expect that there aren’t going to be consequences. Magic can’t return to this land if those who use it cannot learn from the mistakes of the past. Banishment is more than fair.”

Alator gazed at Merlin thoughtfully for long moments before speaking in his heavy accent. “Perhaps if magic is to flourish then we all must change. I meant what I said before. I would give my life to return magic to its rightful place in Albion. You are prophesied to bring this about, my lord. Whatever service I can do you, I will.”

Merlin released the tension he had been holding ever since he had become aware of Alator’s presence. It wasn’t that Merlin feared Alator but he did feel conflicted. Merlin was just as angry with the Catha Druid as Arthur. Gaius had taken Merlin in, cared for him; protected him; taught him. And this man had stolen Gaius from his bed in the middle of the night. He had tortured him. He had broken the old man and forced him to reveal the identity of Emrys. He had done this without displaying any interest in who his victim was or why Morgana might want the information. He had been motivated solely by material gain. It was a base, despicable act. Merlin felt a little dirty even speaking to the man. 

Yet, Alator had saved his life. True, if it had not been for Alator his life may not have been endangered in the first place. Even so, Merlin felt a small but persistent tug of obligation. More than simply saving his life, Alator had pledged himself to Merlin’s cause- a pledge that he had just reaffirmed. Merlin had not exactly accepted Alator as his- what? soldier? servant? liegeman? and he did not want to. He didn’t want to be anyone’s leader. That sort of thing wasn’t his side of the coin, so to speak. Merlin was finding, though, that it was hard not to feel a sense of responsibility toward someone when he decided to make you his beacon of hope. Thus, Merlin would do his best to help the Druid reform.

“Thanks,” Merlin felt awkward. “But I don’t know that I really need anything just at the moment.”

“I should tell you of the Mór Cruinniú, my lord. It is the great gathering of our people. You should join us and take a place of leadership among us.” Alator advised, his accent resonant with magic. “What the Druids decide will have implications for the restoration of magic in Albion and it is fitting that you should be among your people.”

Merlin chewed his lip. He really wasn’t eager for what he presumed would be a long and complicated meeting of Druids. “Tell me about this gathering, this Mór Cruinniú? Gwen- the Queen- said something about the Druids choosing political allies?”

“Not precisely, my lord. At the gathering, many issues essential to the future of our people will be discussed. We have not met for decades- not since Uther made any large gathering of our people too risky. We have grown apart in that time and there is a debate about where are future lies. We hope that we will find ourselves again at the Mór Cruinniú. It has been too long since our people have been a true force in the world.” Alator replied.

“I don’t understand. Now that magic is no longer banned won’t the Druids just . . . just want to live their lives in peace?”

Alator looked at Merlin as though he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take that question seriously. In the end, he decided it was best just to go along with it. “Some will advocate for that path certainly.”

“Are you saying others won’t?” Merlin felt his heart sink. He had always been under the impression that peace and security were the Druids’ goals.

Alator shrugged. “There are those who dispute that the prophecy of the Once and Future King is ascendant. Others argue that it has been incorrectly interpreted. Some Druids wish to fight; to take up arms in the name of magic while others wish to withdraw- escape into the hills and the small islands and let the world be for a time.”

“I don’t understand.” Merlin repeated. “How could the prophecy have been misinterpreted and what does ‘not ascendant’ mean.”

“Ah, to say that a prophecy is not ascendant means that it’s time has not yet come.” Alator had settled into a chair and taken on a professorial tone. “There are a great many prophecies and no one knows the time of their fulfillment. Those who favor the lady Morgana believe in the ascendance of a prophecy about the daughter of a tyrannical king who takes the throne amid much turmoil after the death of her younger half-brother. She will reign over a golden age and the greatest bard to ever live shall come into his gifts while she sits on the throne.”

“So, Morgana is alive?” Merlin had suspected that she was but it was different to hear it confirmed. Merlin wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

“Yes, my lord, and she is not without friends.”

“There are Druids who think Morgana is going to be a great Queen?” Merlin was skeptical. Had they not heard how Morgana had been when she had briefly ruled Camelot? Besides, the prophecy sounded a bit vague and silly to him, like someone trying to remember stories they’d been told as children. There was not the ring of urgent truth he felt when he thought about Arthur as the Once and Future King.

“Not many.” Alator conceded. “Only those already predisposed to the lady’s cause but it would be unwise to let her arguments go unanswered.”

“Is Morgana behind those saying the prophecy of the Once and Future King is being ‘misinterpreted’. I am Emrys and I serve Arthur.” It was as simple as that. To accept Merlin was to accept Arthur.

Alator shrugged. “People say that you are still young. You lack the knowledge and wisdom to be near your destiny. They say your king may not even have been born yet.”

“That’s preposterous.” Merlin was starting to get annoyed. Couldn’t these druids, who were supposed to be all about prophecy, feel the truth? Couldn’t they hear destiny beating in time with their own hearts? “Morgana’s not a druid and her encounters with them have not ended well. How does she have allies?”

“She has one man in particular- Mordred- who is very dedicated to her cause and he influences others.” Merlin shuddered. “You know that name?”

“Yes.”

“You should come with me, my lord. If you are convinced of Camelot’s sincerity and believe that an alliance would be mutually profitable you should argue that among our people.”

Merlin considered. Arthur would almost certainly want to meet the Druid leaders. They needed to be able to listen to him. He had so many plans. It was impossible that the Druids would fail to see that Arthur was their best hope for a just peace? “How far are the Druid settlements? I don’t know that Arthur will want to leave Camelot again so soon after just getting back but I’m sure he wants Camelot and the Druids to be allies. Maybe they could come here?”

“You are the one with influence among the Druids, my lord. You are the one who will lead us. There are not many among our kind who would welcome Arthur Pendragon. I don’t know that it would be wise for him to seek our people out.”

Merlin frowned. “I need to stay with Arthur. The times are still dangerous. More dangerous than I realized if there are so many Druids who aren’t even willing to listen to him.”

Alator’s mouth tightened in irritation but he persevered. “If you have allies among the druids then perhaps you would at least be willing to enlist their aid.”

“That makes sense. Iseldir, maybe, would be willing to help?” Merlin shook his head. “You really think there is a chance that Druids will take arms for Morgana against Arthur? I thought they were supposed to be peaceful. Why would they fight Arthur when they were so docile under Uther? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I doubt there is enough time, my lord, to answer all your questions.” Alator said with a small smile. “Uther was a trial to be endured but we are at point of decision. While many Druids are peaceful and have remained so despite oppression that may change. We are servants of prophecy and guardians of wisdom. Some argue that means following a path of peace, for others it means total war and to others it means retreat from the world. If you wish I will seek to contact Iseldir. He and I both have a talent for scrying so we should find each other readily.”

“Really? That must be interesting.” It was hard for Merlin not to get drawn in by all Alator could teach him. Despite his power, Merlin was aware that there was a great deal that he had not had the chance to learn. Having someone like Alator teach him was a big temptation. Still, you couldn’t ignore a person’s crimes just because having that person around was useful. Or at least, Merlin thought self-consciously, you couldn’t do it often.

“Yes, indeed.” Alator smiled. “I will do my best, my lord, to discover as much as I can about who will attend the Mór Cruinniú and where their loyalties lie. I will send a messenger when I have news to report, my lord.”

Merlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. Alator was apparently willing to do a great deal of work. Merlin was grateful and he was eager for Alator to give him any excuse to count the Druids among their allies but Merlin had always preferred to do the really important things by himself. Delegating made him uncomfortable.

“Do you know when or where the gathering is going to take place?” Merlin asked. “How much time before we need to be ready to formally make our case.”

“It will take some time for all the arrangements to be made.” Alator shrugged. “Perhaps two months, if there are no delays.”

“Won’t the weather have started to turn by then? How long will the meeting last?”

“The important decisions will be made at the end of the first three days. The next six days we will make more detailed decision. After that, we shall all winter together and learn to become one people again.”

Merlin nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Alator. I’m grateful for your help.”

Alator shrugged then gazed into Merlin’s eyes. “You are Emrys. You are marked by prophecy and destiny. How could I do otherwise than to offer all the aid I can? I will send word, my lord, when I have news.” With that Alator bowed and left the room as silently as he had entered.

Merlin blew his breath out through his lips and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He should go tell Arthur what had just happened. They needed to start thinking about what to say to the Druids. Merlin had to confess that he had been taken off guard. He had taken the Druids for granted- not necessarily as allies but he had assumed that they were too passive to be enemies. He had further assumed that his mysterious status as Emrys would get him a bit further. Merlin realized that he was just a bit miffed that the Druids weren’t prepared to just take his word that they ought to work with Arthur and help him any way they could. 

With a rueful smile, Merlin realized that while he believed with all his heart that people with magic were just like everybody else, he still hadn’t expected politics from the Druids. Thoughts relatively in order, Merlin was making his way to the door of his chamber when he was startled by a loud knock.  
*  
The sound of metal clanging against metal rang through the air. Leon walked around the pairs of men bringing their swords together in a familiar dance of challenge and defend. The senior knight paused occasionally to make a comment, correct a stance or to demonstrate a particular series of motions. He enjoyed this and he was good at it. Not just the fighting but the teaching. It pleased him to know that because of the hours and hours of drills that he endured his body could react automatically to counter any threat—almost any threat. Fighting felt instinctive for him now even though all Leon had to do was look around him to be reminded that there was nothing at all instinctual about proper fighting.

Leon was on the point of having the knights switch partners when he noticed Bedivere across the courtyard gesturing to get his intention. Leon gestured back to indicate that he was busy but Bedivere’s hand waiving only became more insistent. Resigned, Leon asked Percival to take over the drill and jogged across the field to find out what Bedivere wanted.

When he drew near to the other knight Leon realized that Bedivere was wearing a wide grin. Leon knew Bedivere too well to believe that that was necessarily a good sign.

“We are needed in the council chamber.” Bedivere said as soon as Leon was close enough to be able to hear him without shouting. “There has been a messenger.”

“From where?” Leon demanded, distrustful of Bedivere’s grin.

“From the south.” Bedivere answered and Leon couldn’t help but wonder if the man’s face was going to be sore the next day.

“Who else has been summoned?” Bedivere’s last answer had not been particularly informative but Leon chose not to pursue it. Bedivere’s excitement was such that Leon was afraid that the man would try to make him guess and Leon wasn’t having that.

“The Council.” Bedivere answered, almost begging Leon to ask more.

“What? The full Council?” Informally, the council just referred to whatever group of advisors the king happened to be working with on any given issue or set of issues. Leon was included in some of these councils and other times not depending on the matter at hand. Officially, though, the Council meant the Lords and powerful men of the land. These meetings took place much less frequently and they tended to be more about politics than policy. 

Leon was entitled to participate in this more formal Council by virtue of his family’s wealth and his own status as First Knight and generally he did attend. He did so more as a show of support than because he had any real interest. He much preferred the smaller sessions where he could help to come up with solutions to problems or if he couldn’t do that he could at least be a trustworthy sounding board. Forced to choose Sir Leon would rather be honest than wise and he would rather be trusted than powerful.

As it happened a formal council meeting was scheduled in two days and as so many of the participants came from across the kingdom to attend a number of them had already arrived. If the meeting was being convened early though, then the messenger must have important news indeed. Leon quickened his steps and Bedivere grinned wider.

“Where are we going?” Leon asked a minute later.

“To the council chamber.” Bediver replied. Leon raised his eyebrow and gestured toward the corridor Bedivere had just led him past. “By way of our friend the wizard.”

Leon stopped and his lips thinned. “Why?”

“I volunteered to fetch you both.”

Leon stared blankly at the man for a second before saying, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Then he turned to go down the hall to the council chamber.

“No, Leon. Wait.” Bedivere caught the other knight’s arm. “Look, you can’t avoid him forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him.” Leon said stiffly pulling his arm from Bedivere’s grasp. “But I’m not going to seek him out either.” By common consent the two men had moved to the side so that anyone coming down the corridor would not need to move around them.

“This is ridiculous, Leon. We are going to have to work closely with him. He may be keeping a low profile now but even without admitting to being- you know- he’s still known to have some magic. So let’s do what we’re told and try to make the sorcerer in our midst feel welcome.”

“It’s easier for you. You weren’t his friend.”

“No,” Bedivere conceded. “I was not his friend. But the intransigence of both sides has been what has brought us to this predicament, so both sides are going to have to try and play nice if we’re going to get past it. All you have to do to is make civilized conversation for the few minutes it will take to get from his room to the council chamber.”

Leon looked indecisive and Bedivere fought for the advantage. “People look to you Leon. The way you treat Merlin now will be the model for how the knights will consider it appropriate to treat sorcerers in the future. You can do better than icy formality.” Sensing victory Bedivere delivered his coup de grace. “Come on. If Arthur can get over it then so can you.”

“Arthur’s not over it.” Leon said it as a simple matter of fact.

“Of course he is. Arthur can’t hold a personal grudge.” Bedivere said dismissively. All Camelot knew that once Arthur was over his first crushing onslaught of cleansing rage then you could expect a justice that bent towards compassion. Arthur couldn’t nurse resentment. He couldn’t sustain enmity with people he cared about. He was- as far as anyone had ever been able to observe- incapable of cherishing hatred.

“His trust in all of us is shaken. He allowed no one closer to him than Merlin and perhaps that is still true for all of us have been pushed back.” Leon all but whispered. He felt disloyal speculating about Arthur’s feelings but it had been a harrowing month and Leon had had no one who could understand his fears.

Bedivere tried to think back to what he had seen of Arthur in the few days since his return. They had not spent much time together and what time they had consisted mostly of Arthur trying to absorb every bit of information about what had happened while he had been away. 

As Bedivere thought on it though, Arthur had been a little more distant than usual. Arthur had never encouraged over-familiarity but Bedivere had become accustomed to a certain intimacy. He and Arthur had spent long evenings re-fighting the Punic wars and having lazy, half drunken, conversations about the Stoics. Arthur trusted him with delicate matters of state and he tolerated with benevolent humor Bedivere’s occasional experiments with the lute. Yes, there was a line. And Bedivere knew better than to cross it. But still Bedivere always considered that he and Arthur were close. Bedivere knew Leon felt the same way. If Leon were right then Bedivere better understood why the First Knight was angry with Merlin.

“Is-“ Bedivere swallowed. “Can we do something that might-“ Bedivere broke off again. He knew that if Arthur hadn’t said anything yet then the plan was to ignore whatever was troubling him until it went away or until he stopped being able to feel it. He would find it mortifying if he knew his senior knights were fretting over him. It would give him one more thing to be worried over, one more thing to guard against. 

“Well, Arthur would expect us to get on with things and leave off agonizing over what can’t be helped.” Bedivere finally said squaring his shoulders. 

Leon nodded. That was mostly the conclusion he had come to himself but it felt better to have talked about it. Leon was fairly sure that it was the right course to keep his mind on practical matters and carry on. There was still a part of him, though, that wanted to go to Arthur and beg him not to lose faith in all of them. He wanted to remind Arthur that despite bitter disappointments there were still some people he could rely on absolutely. Maybe Leon and the others couldn’t make up for what had been lost but surely they would count for something.

“Let’s go fetch the wizard before we’re late for the council.” Leon said with his usual quiet confidence.

“Good man.” Bedivere clapped Leon on the shoulder and then said more softly, “I appreciate the support- I’m actually a bit nervous, you know.” 

Laughing quietly Leon took the lead as the two continued down the hall.  
*  
The council chamber was more crowded than Gwen could ever remember seeing it. There were about half a dozen bejeweled and fur cloaked men whose names Gwen did not know.

“The fat one, there, is Uriens. His lands are in the north. They have beautiful horses up there.” Kay whispered. “He is not a bad sort but he likes things his own way.”

“I doubt that much distinguishes him in this company.” Guinevere whispered back as she tried to remember to keep up a gracious smile. Kay acknowledged her point with a rueful twist of his lips.

“Who’s that with the short beard and the lovely applique on his jacket?” Gwen subtly shifted nearer to Kay to better hear the Seneschal’s quiet words.

“That’s Colegrance. He’s from even further north than Uriens. He does not come to see us often. The last Council he attended was at the coronation and the last one before that was before Uther’s illness.”

Just then Guinevere saw Merlin enter the room flanked by Sir Leon and Sir Bedivere. She would have smiled at Merlin and Leon but they did not happen to look in her direction. Merlin looked nervous and uncomfortable. Bedivere was talking, clearly asking questions. Merlin was giving short answers but Bedivere did not seem discouraged by this. 

Seeing these three men talking conspicuously made Gwen’s eyebrows go up. She could not help but whisper to Kay, “I was not aware that Merlin and Bedivere were well acquainted.” 

More than that Gwen was fairly sure Leon and Merlin were no longer on the best of terms. It was a situation she intended to help mend at the earliest opportunity but seeing them behaving amicably now somehow made her suspicious.

Kay responded with a noncommittal shrug which hours of playing chess with the man had taught the Queen meant Kay had spotted a clever move but wasn’t sure if Gwen had also spotted it. Under his breath Kay murmured, ‘Attaboy, Leon. Smile like it doesn’t hurt.’

“I’m surprised to see them together.” Gwen pushed a bit.

“I believe Bedivere and Leon are trying to show that Merlin belongs here, my lady- that his . . . skills are valued and respected.” Kay answered with a sigh. Gwen blinked and watched as Bedivere called out to various of his acquaintances drawing them over into conversation in which Merlin was conspicuously included. Less voluble than Bedivere Leon demonstrated collegial interest whenever Merlin said anything. 

As each moment passed however, it seemed to Gwen that Merlin got increasingly antsy. He kept looking toward the wall where the servants were gathered. After making some parting comment to Bedivere Merlin scurried over to help one of the pages who was carrying books for Geoffrey. When the books were sorted, Merlin found a place to stand near where Arthur would sit. Gwen had to twist around to look at him. He smiled when he caught her eye and all the tension she had seen in him as he entered with the knights had gone.

There was a small commotion at the entrance to the room and everyone was getting to their feet; Arthur had arrived. The King was flanked by two guards who stationed themselves on either side of the doors. Elyan was one of the guards and Gwen smiled brightly at her brother. Elyan inclined his head in respectful acknowledgement but he did not smile. He had become a stoic knight of the realm and he did not want to break character. 

Gwen could not help but smile again at how well knighthood suited her brother. There had been a time when she had nearly despaired of Elyan. Her irresponsible younger brother had been so determined to look after himself that he hadn’t realized he ought to have given some thought to looking after those around him. He had grown up since then. Their father would have been so proud of him.

Inexorably, though, all eyes including Gwen’s were drawn to Arthur as he strode purposefully around the table. He made brief eye contact with several of the men as he passed but he did not pause. This was Arthur in his element. He bore the weight of every eye in the room as easily as he bore the weight of his chainmail. It was easy to forget at such moments all the effort Arthur put into to being more than the mere image of a King.

Arthur seated himself beside Guinevere and gestured for everyone else to resume their chairs. “Gentlemen,” Arthur announced when the rustling had diminished and he had regained the attention of his audience. “My lady.” This was added with a small smile for Guinevere that she happily returned. “We have had a message from the South: Vortigen is not expected to live out the week.”

“It’s about time.” Someone called out.

“Here’s hoping it’s painful.” Someone else added to general approval.

“Once Vortigen is dead,” Arthur continued, ignoring the interruptions. “His heir will be in a position to repudiate his father’s treaty. It is essential to Camelot’s interests that he be persuaded to do so. To that end, I propose to lead a delegation to the soon-to-be King Roderick’s court.”

There was silence after that announcement and Gwen took the opportunity to speak. “My lord, I regret that I am not well informed on this issue. Perhaps some background information would help everyone to focus on the salient points?” Gwen felt her cheeks warm a little under the sudden scrutiny. She had not been sure she wanted to reveal her ignorance in front of so many people, but she didn’t know how else to learn besides asking. The several grateful looks she received from various lords helped to reassure her.

“Yes, of course.” Arthur said smoothly as though Gwen had provided him with the perfect segue. “Bedivere?”

“Yes, Sire.” Bedivere was busy unrolling a map he had just taken from Geoffrey of Monmouth. “Approximately thirty years ago-“

“Thirty-two years” Geoffrey corrected in a whisper that carried across the room.

“Thirty-two years ago,” Bedivere continued. “Vortigen came to power in these lands.” Bedivere gestured to a small area on the Southeastern shoreline. “At that time, bands of raiders were continually harassing the people up and down the southern coast. They would arrive in their boats sack and burn the nearest villages and then be off again before anyone could mount a response. It was Vortigen’s ambition to unites all these little territories into a major kingdom-“

Geoffrey snorted derisively. Bedivere gave him a look and the archivist subsided. 

“Vortigen did not meet with success. Everywhere he went he found that none of the local chieftains were interested in an alliance against the Saxon barbarians. They preferred to rule alone in their tiny holding rather than to help rule a great kingdom.” Geoffrey opened his mouth but shut it in response to Bedivere’s glare.

“Unable to find allies among the British, Vortigen looked for allies among the invaders themselves. In exchange for keeping his portion of the coast free from invasion Vortigen delivered an annual sum of gold to the Saxon leaders. This was regarded as a great betrayal among the British.” There were indignant nods around the room.

“As time went on Vortigen’s territory grew. He was the only one who could promise protection against the Saxon scourge and so those who had disdained to join with him when he asked found themselves begging to join with him when he had shown them the benefits of having allies. By the twelfth year of Vortigen’s reign most of the coastal region had been consolidated under his rule and he declared himself ruler of a major kingdom-“

“Except he wasn’t because the coastal regions have never been considered a kingdom of Albion.” Geoffrey could not contain himself.

“No one recognized his kingdom but it more or less functioned as one.” Bedivere sighed. “The point is that Vortigen sowed the seeds of his doom along with his success. The demands of the barbarians grew. They grew so much that much of his kingdom’s wealth went to appease them. Vortigen had to send tribute of grain and livestock. There were rumors that the Saxons demanded slaves but no one is sure if that is true. About five years ago the raids resumed, although nothing like before. Vortigen’s Saxon allies swore it was none of their doing but it hardly matters. Vortigen’s allies said they might be able to put a stop to the raids if tribute were to be increased and so it has gone since then.”

Arthur spoke into the silence that accompanied the end of Bedivere’s speech. “So, I intend to lead a delegation to Dobhardhroim to convince Roderick that there is no benefit in letting the Saxons continue to extort him.”

“But, Sire,” Sir Dagonet interjected. “Won’t the repudiation of the treaty bring about an immediate and concerted attack by the Saxons?”

“Yes, which is why we will have to convince Roderick that he will not have to stand alone when that attack comes.” At this there was general consternation and Guinevere stole a quick glance at Arthur to see if there was something he might want her to do. Arthur looked perfectly composed, though.

“Forgive me, Sire,” This was Uriens. “But are you suggesting that Camelot commit our own men to the defense of the south? It is not our task to clean up Vortigen’s mess.” This was met with general approbation.

“Yes. I do intend to commit Camelot’s forces to the defense of the south. But, forces contributed by the other kingdoms will join them. If the Saxons go unchecked it will become our business very soon and we will have let our enemy established a permanent beachhead in Britain.”

“Why would the other kingdoms be willing to commit men?” Colegrance spoke loudly with an undercurrent of challenge.

“We have made treaties of mutual defense with them. This is not such a big step further than that.” Arthur’s tone was mild in contrast to Colegrance’s sharpness.

“I believe it is. I cannot imagine anyone joining in this.”

Gwen saw that Geoffrey had gotten up and was toddling up to Arthur with a stack of papers. Arthur remained quiet until the stack had been placed before him and Geoffrey had retreated.

“I have commitments of either men or resources from Annis of Caerleon; Bayard of Mercia, Elena of Gawant as regent on behalf of Lord Godwyn;” Arthur turned over one of the pages Geoffrey had given him. “Mythian of Nemeth and Linors of the Eastern Fens.” Arthur looked up from the paper and regarded Colegrance quizzically.

Gwen struggled not to grin. She knew Arthur had been working very hard to put together a force composed of knight from all the kingdoms that could pursue bandits, smugglers and other miscreants across any border. It had not occurred to the Queen that guarding against the Saxons would be a perfect use for such a force.

“Linors is Alined’s vassal. He won’t be happy with her.” The observation was made more in amusement than concern. Gwen did not catch the identity of the speaker and she didn’t want to miss anything by taking time to confer with Kay. 

“What about Olaf and Odin?” Colegrance asked. His eyebrows had not yet retreated to their normal place after scaling the height of his brow.

“They are still considering.” Arthur conceded. These two were probably the biggest stumbling blocks to a truly united force. Gwen could see Arthur’s frustration with this fact but she didn’t think anyone else could tell. 

“So, a delegation,” Arthur said as though the last half hour had been something of a tangent and he was now ready for everyone to return to the matter at hand. “I was thinking something comparatively small; a few knights, some men-at-arms, the Queen- if she would consent?”

“You want me to come?” Gwen’s surprise made her forget for a moment that she was in a room filled with people.

“It is a diplomatic mission not a military one. Besides we’d have a chance to tour our own southern lands. You would be very welcome.” All but the last sentence was spoken in Arthur’s casual drawl.

“I’d be pleased to come.” Gwen confessed. She had thought her promised tour of the kingdom would need to be postponed to the spring. Arthur smiled and then turned to answer one of the lords who had made a suggestion about including his son in the party.

Discussion continued for another hour before a halt was called. A few lords tried to get a start on the upcoming official council session but Geoffrey as keeper of the agenda insisted they wait. After several minutes of the librarian’s frantic shooing only Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Leon, Bedivere and Kay remained.

Arthur rubbed at the skin between his eyes, trying to push away the tiredness. Guinevere would have liked to move closer to Arthur but the chairs were too big and heavy for her to move without conspicuous effort. The King seemed on the verge of going into greater detail about what they would need for the journey when Merlin shyly raised his hand.

Arthur regarded the wizard a moment before gesturing for him to say whatever was on his mind. Merlin looked nervous to be the center of attention but he told them about Alator’s visit without stammering. When he had finished Guinevere wondered briefly if he might be holding anything back and was instantly ashamed of herself. It wasn’t that Gwen wasn’t convinced of Merlin’s loyalty it was just that she knew how accustomed Merlin was to working in secret.

At the end of Merlin’s account Guinevere found that she was frowning and she tried to smooth out her features. She had been upset when Arthur had told her and Kay a bit about who Alator was and what he had done. She had been upset that the man had been in her home, smiling and a bit imperious. She had also been upset that even now Gaius had evaded her questions when she had gone to him. 

Now it seemed that Alator meant to do them a good turn- or at least he meant to do Emrys a good turn. Guinevere might have been more convinced that he genuinely sought to make amends if he had not been so brazen when he had come to see her knowing he had hurt one of her friends.

No one was really comfortable trusting Alator but likewise no one seemed to feel there was much of an alternative. No one had anticipated that Druids might actually decide to give aid and support to Camelot’s enemies or that they might now- after so long- try to assert any political will. It had just been assumed that the Druids would slowly come out of hiding as they saw evidence that magic was no longer punished or persecuted.

Leon suggested that Merlin might want to go and seek the Druids himself. He clearly had status among them and he might be able to talk them out of anything that might lead to violence. Merlin rejected the proposal and no one pressed him to reconsider.

Without a better plan but feeling the need to do something, the smaller council decided to send Gareth, one of the younger and more eager knights, to seek Iseldir. Gareth could determine if the man advocated peace and if so then he could offer whatever assistance he could in Camelot’s name. It wasn’t much but sending lots of men might feel threatening to the Druids. This way Camelot could demonstrate interest in conciliation while not relying entirely on Alator. They would concentrate fully on the Druids once Roderick and the Saxons had been addressed.

Sighing Arthur waved his hand in dismissal. All but the details had been agreed and Kay and Leon would best be able to attend to those without interference. Merlin lingered at the door the last to leave. Gwen saw that he was trying to catch Arthur’s eye but Arthur did not look his way. After a moment Merlin gave up. His shoulders slumped as he turned away leaving Arthur and Guinevere alone.

Gwen’s heart went out to Merlin. She wished she knew what to do that might make things better. She had talked a lot with Merlin and she was convinced of the sorcerer’s sincere determination to do whatever he could to make things right. She tried to talk to Arthur. She tried to remind him gently of how much Merlin had helped and Camelot. She also tried to remind him of how much Merlin had endured but he just agreed with her while giving no indication about how he felt about it. Arthur was entirely closed off and the only thing Gwen could be sure of was that he was as unhappy as she had ever known him to be.

Getting up from her chair Gwen moved over to Arthur and leaned against him. His arm circled around her waist and he briefly rested his head against her shoulder.

“How are you doing?” Gwen asked putting her arms around his neck.

“Good. Fine.” Arthur answered. Then he looked up into her face. “How are you, Gwen? I would have preferred to talk to you before calling this meeting but I didn’t want any of the lords to have a chance to think about the Saxons before I talked to them all together.”

“I’m fine.” Gwen reassured. “You’ve been thinking about this for a long time, haven’t you.”

“It’s a problem thirty years in the making. I would have had to have given it some thought.”

“Thirty-two years.” Gwen corrected and Arthur tried to smile for her. “You want to lead them, don’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“The group of knights from all the kingdoms that will face the Saxons, you want to be the one to lead them.”

“It makes sense that it should be me.” Arthur answered a little defensively. He was aware that in some ways it was selfish to go chasing after Saxons rather than focusing all his energy on Camelot. Arthur had truly come to believe, though, that Camelot was better off if the kingdoms around it weren’t in chaos- if the rulers of all the kingdoms could find a way to reliably cooperate.

“Yes, it does.” Guinevere agreed. “It should be you. You’re the only one it could be.”

Arthur let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Then, he was smiling his smile that was equal parts surprise and joy. Gwen loved that smile. She saw it whenever Arthur had braced himself for something grim and awful that suddenly, miraculously became wonderful and happy. It was a smile that meant everything was going to be all right after all. The smile gave her courage.

“Are you hungry, Arthur?” Gwen asked taking his hand and interlacing their fingers. “Why don’t we get Elyan and Leon and Merlin and Percival and Gawain and Gaius too, if he’s up for it, and have dinner? It’s been a long time since we’ve all had a chance to eat together as friends, as family.”

“That sounds lovely. I really should spend the evening making sure Gareth understands what’s expected of him though, before I send him out into the wilderness.” Arthur demurred. “But you should do that.” Arthur added, squeezing Gwen’s hand before extricating his fingers from her grip. “You should definitely get everyone together. They’ve all missed you, you know.”

“We could do something quieter if you would rather.” Gwen suggested undeterred. “Just the two of us? Or maybe just Leon and Elyan could join us?” Gwen wanted Arthur and Merlin to be together in relaxed circumstances as much as possible but it had also occurred to her that Arthur might feel that she and perhaps Gawain as well were trying too hard to force a reconciliation. 

“You should spend the evening with your friends, Gwen.” Arthur said gently pushing Gwen away and getting to his feet.

He was turning to leave when Guinevere caught his arm. “Arthur, you know you never have to deal with anything by yourself. You’re not alone. Don’t ever think you are.” To her surprise, Gwen realized that tears had started to overflow her eyes. “I will always- we will always be here for you.”

Arthur pulled Gwen into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t cry Guinevere.” He urged softly. “Don’t cry. It’s not worth it.”


	5. Chapter 5

The quilted fabric of Arthur’s gambeson was wet and sticky where he pressed it against his side. He knew he wasn’t badly injured. If he had been he would probably hurt more. Still there seemed to be enough blood that it was worth seeing Gaius. He couldn’t tell exactly how much because the gambeson was doing yeoman work absorbing the spill. Red was a convenient color; Arthur had always thought so.

“At least Accolon wasn’t training with a sword.” Percival said amiably as he kept in step with Arthur’s- somewhat slower than usual- pace.

Arthur scowled. “Ha. If he had been then I might have seen it coming. Sloppy work all the way around.” Percival shrugged. In Arthur’s defense Accolon wasn’t meant to be attacking him. 

It was still unclear to Percival what exactly had happened. Percival had been going over some basic moves with another knight when suddenly there was shouting and confusion. Percival had turned around to see Arthur on the ground with a fully armored knight on top of him and another who seemed to be tangled up in their feet. 

In fairly short order, all three were brought to standing. Several voices were demanding to know what had happened. Profuse apologies were being offered when Percival suddenly realized that the long dagger Accolon, the knight who had somehow managed to tackle Arthur, was wet with blood.

There were some advantages to being extremely tall and extremely strong- actually, it was pretty much all advantages- and Percival was able to push his way over to Arthur who was managing to display lordly disdain despite being fairly well covered with mud. Now that he was searching for an injury, Percival had no trouble finding the rip in Arthur’s shirt down his left side.

Arthur seemed surprised when Percival pointed out the torn cloth and- after a bit of probing- the torn flesh. Arthur insisted the wound wasn’t deep but Leon, who had already been working himself up into a state, looked frantic enough for Arthur to agree to see Gaius. Poor Accolon looked horrified. It was just bad luck that Arthur had been drilling unarmed combat techniques with Sir Lionel. If he’d been wearing his chainmail as usual it was likely no harm would have been done. But, accidents happened. 

They were still some distance from the physician’s quarters when Arthur’s step seemed to falter. It was not a trip. It probably wouldn’t even count as a stumble but in nearly the same instant Percival had a supporting hand around Arthur’s arm. Soon enough, Arthur regained his rhythm but Percival did not take his hand away.

Arthur let out a frustrated breath. They were leaving for the Saxon Shore the day after next and if this ridiculous cut ended up needing stiches it would keep him away from drill the next day. It was bad enough that the rest of this morning’s training was ruined but so was his last opportunity to get in a good sparring session before traveling. Clumsy Accolon. Arthur hoped Leon was shouting at him.

“It’s all right, Percival.” Arthur tried after a few very steady steps.

“Yes, Sire.” The big man agreed but did not let go of his arm.

At Gaius’s door, Percival knocked perfunctorily before pushing the door open and calling the old man’s name.

“What? Hello. Gaius isn’t here.” Merlin answered as he quickly waved his arms over a large mixing bowl which appeared to be giving off orange smoke.

“What’s that, then?” Percival couldn’t resist asking as he helped Arthur to the long bench by Gaius’s work table.

Merlin had given up on the smoking bowl and was hastily pouring the contents into the slop bucket. A haze of orange fog settled like a cloud over the bucket. Merlin kicked it back behind a shelf, out of sight.

“It’s a bit of an experiment. It didn’t go as well as I had hoped.” Merlin answered.

“What was it supposed to do?” Percival was intrigued.

“Oh, well ‘do’? It’s not really a question of doing something. Um, it was supposed to sort of make the room- well, make it harder for sickness to spread through the air… Kind of like a warding but against disease.” 

Percival nodded gravely. “You were trying to work out how to shrink your ears, weren’t you.” Percival knew if he had any gift for magic one of the first things that he would do would be to make some- very minor- adjustments to his physical appearance.

Merlin’s response came in three distinct waves: “No, I wasn’t!”, “My ears are perfectly fine as they are.” And “You had better hope I never master shrinking magic.” Percival snorted. 

Almost subconsciously Merlin turned his attention to Arthur. This sort of exchange would usually have amused him but Arthur was staring off into the middle distance, apparently not even listening.

“What’s wrong? Why do you need Gaius?” Concern suddenly took over the entirety of Merlin’s emotional landscape. Was Arthur pale or was it just the light?

“There was an accident during training.” Percival replied, all business himself.

“A minor mishap- just a cut.” Arthur broke in, shaking off his previous lethargy. “Gaius will have it sorted in no time.”

“Gaius isn’t here.” Merlin was quickly filling a pot with water and placing it over the fire to boil. He was ticking off in his head all the things he might need to treat a cut while also trying to get a good look at Arthur. Yes, he was a bit pale. He was holding his left side. How much bleeding was there? Merlin couldn’t tell. Red really was an inconvenient color. 

“He and Dickon and the herbalist and a few of Cook’s helpers have all gone off to the forest to collect herbs. They decided to make a day of it.” Merlin smiled as he took some bandages from their shelf. He had been glad for Gaius to have an outing. “I’m here, though.”

“Right, then.” Arthur acknowledged. It was a bit of a struggle to keep his attention focused. Arthur gritted his teeth. Turning to Percival, he continued, “You should probably get back to the yard. Make sure Leon has calmed down.” 

“Do you have everything you need?” Percival asked Merlin regarding Arthur carefully. “Should I fetch the Queen?” 

“No.” Arthur held Percival’s gaze with as much cool confidence as he could muster. “There is no reason to upset her over something so trivial. Merlin can handle it.”

“I think we’re set.” Merlin reassured. He knew the knight was concerned but Merlin also knew that making any sort of a fuss would probably count as ‘showing weakness’ or some other such foolishness in Arthur’s prattish, ridiculous, wrong-headed view of the world. 

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Merlin said after Percival had left. 

With practiced hands Merlin unlaced the Gambeson and helped Arthur shrug out of it. The garment was heavy- heavier than it should have been. Merlin frowned. There was a lot of blood. Hastily Merlin put the gambeson aside. The white shirt Arthur had worn underneath was crimson down the left side.

“Here, we should cut it.” Merlin advised as it seemed Arthur was getting ready to try and pull the shirt over his head. Arthur made no objection.

When the shirt had been cut away, Merlin took a wet cloth and gently cleaned away the blood from the wound. As he worked he saw that the cut was still oozing. 

“This isn’t just a minor cut, Arthur. This looks deep. What happened?” 

“Is it?” Arthur craned his neck to peer down at his slashed skin. It didn’t look particularly bad to him. 

“Yes, it is.” Merlin huffed in annoyance, pressing a clean cloth against the wound. “What happened?”

Arthur shook his head a bit. He was so sleepy. The sudden awareness that he shouldn’t be sleepy was enough to trigger some adrenaline and Arthur struggled again to focus. “I- I was sparring and then someone tripped and bumped into me. . . Or, no. I tripped and bumped into Accolon- I think. Or . . . It was over too quickly. I can’t really remember.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur from where he had been kneeling winding bandages around the gash. “You don’t remember?”

‘Why so surprised? Don’t you rely on the fact that I can’t hold a stable memory in my head? Maybe you should tell me what happened! Go on! It doesn’t have to be plausible.’ The angry words had formed from nowhere. Arthur just barely bit them back- biting back the now-familiar rage along with them. A half-choked groan of frustration escaped his lips instead. Arthur squeezed his eyes closed. He needed to think of something casual and suitably dismissive to say. It would be all right then. 

As Arthur scourged his brain a sudden wave of vertigo overtook him. Arthur’s head ached and he felt strange. Panic soon coupled with the strangeness. A crack broke open inside Arthur’s chest. The crack widened and Arthur started to tear apart around it. The gap grew and grew until the space in Arthur’s chest was a black chasm. Arthur pitched forward into the darkness. The world spun as he fell and fell. 

“Arthur!” Arthur had fallen forward so that his elbows were supported by his knees and his head was buried in his hands. He was oblivious to the way the motion pulled at the cut in his side as he gasped desperately. 

Fear seized Merlin. He wondered if he should call for help. He considered it but he wasn’t sure what help there was. He was afraid that Arthur wasn’t getting enough air. Had the stabbing or whatever else had happened during training damaged a lung? Was it the blood loss and maybe dehydration? Or was it something else entirely? 

‘It’s all right. Try and breathe. Slowly. It’s all right.” Merlin babbled helplessly as he stroked Arthur’s arm and tried to keep the king’s jerky movements from exacerbating his injury. 

“Why don’t you lie down, hmm. Yes? Maybe it will help. You’ll feel better?” Merlin coaxed. If he could get Arthur over to the bed it might make it easier for him to breathe. At the least it would give Merlin a better angle to assess what might be wrong. 

“All right, come on. We just need to go a little distance. Come on, Sire. You’re all right.” Merlin moved to Arthur’s right side and tried to pull Arthur’s arm over his shoulder. He was met with limited success. Arthur was heavy.

Even as Merlin struggled it started to seem like Arthur was breathing better. He was able to look up At Merlin. Though his eyes were glassy and sweat poured off him, he seemed to be regaining some control. Merlin was giddy at the improvement. “You’re all right, Arthur.” He reassured them both. “Just come with me a little way and we’ll try to find out what is going on. We’ll go slowly.”

This time Arthur cooperated as Merlin tried to maneuver him to his feet. He swayed but steadied after a moment. Merlin could feel that Arthur’s pulse was still rapid but he was beginning to think the fit or whatever it had been had passed. As Merlin tugged him in the direction of the bed, though, Arthur suddenly stopped.

“Can’t go.” The words cost precious breath.

“What? It’s all right. I’ve got you. It’s no distance at all. Come on.”

“Have to stay. Can’t go.” Arthur was trying to push Merlin off but there was no strength in his movements.

Merlin sighed. Why did the clotpole pick the worst times to be stubborn? “We’re not going anywhere. It’s all right. See, just across the room.” Merlin started to tug insistently on Arthur’s arm. The sooner he could get a good look at Arthur the sooner he could help him.

Arthur pushed Merlin away from him as hard as could manage. Merlin staggered back a pace before he lost his balance completely and landed hard on his backside.

“No!” Arthur was gasping but his eyes had cleared. He stared down at Merlin with defiant rage. He started to fall but he caught himself on the table edge. “Damn you, Merlin. I won’t.” Those words took the last of Arthur’s strength and he collapsed to the floor unconscious. 

For nearly a second, Merlin could only gape. Then, his body jerked into motion. He clambered forward onto his knees by Arthur’s crumpled form. As gently as he could he maneuvered Arthur onto his back. The king’s breathing had returned to something closer to normal and his pulse was rapid but steady. Next Merlin checked the apparent cause of everything, the knife wound. There was fresh blood on the bandages but Merlin could not see that the cut had widened.

Merlin scrambled to his feet. He froze half turned toward retrieving a needle and sutures. It would be easier- and more comfortable- to have Arthur on the bed. It would take just the thinnest thread of magic- Merlin knew from experience- to lift Arthur gently and move him to where Merlin could treat him more easily.

It was the logical thing to do. Merlin had sworn never to use his magic against Arthur. He would hold to that oath- absolutely. Using his magic now, though, did not violate that oath. Of course it didn’t. He would be using magic to help. Merlin raised his hand and summoned his power but then he heard the echo of Arthur’s words: ‘No! Damn you, Merlin.’ Merlin shivered and dropped his hand. He ran to get the sutures. 

Guiltlessly Merlin summoned a ball of light so that he could see clearly. Arthur barely stirred as Merlin sewed the wound. When he was finished, he applied a thick layer of one of Gaius’s concoctions that would keep the wound clean. Then he awkwardly but persistently wrapped Arthur’s torso in bandages. When he was done, Merlin sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. 

The wound bothered him. It didn’t seem right. Arthur’s reaction to it didn’t seem right. How had the king managed to walk relatively calmly from the practice yard to Gaius’s chambers only to have such a dramatic collapse a few minutes after arriving? Of course, there might be a hundred explanations. Injuries were unpredictable things. Merlin had had some training but he was no physician; there was a lot he didn’t know. Even so, Merlin was uneasy. His hand hovered above the bandaged cut. He would feel so much better if he could just let his magic explore the damage. If there was something wrong Merlin could fix it quickly and Arthur never needed to know. ‘Damn you, Merlin.’ 

Merlin bit his lip and pressed the back of his hand to Arthur’s forehead. Though it was slick with sweat there was no indication of fever. If anything Arthur felt too cool. Pleased to have something useful to do, Merlin struggled to his feet to fetch a pillow and blanket. 

“You really don’t make things easy.” Merlin murmured as he tucked the blanket around Arthur.

Arthur seemed to be resting peacefully. Merlin checked his forehead and was unaware when the gesture changed into something like a caress. When Merlin did become aware of what he was doing he pulled his hand back and stood up. He surveyed the room feeling a little lost. Then he remembered that there were supposed to be potions to treat severe blood loss and he was immediately on the hunt.

When he found the bottle, neatly labeled near the back of a shelf, he made a soft exclamation of triumph. Arthur roused enough to swallow the viscous liquid without ever truly coming to consciousness. Merlin had lifted his head a little to help him drink. When the potion was gone Merlin eased him back onto the pillow. After a moment Merlin realized that he was still stroking Arthur’s hair and he made himself stop.

“You’re angry with me.” Merlin whispered. Arthur didn’t stir. “Of course you are. I knew you were. I just-“ Merlin stopped and swallowed hard. Kilgharrah had said that Arthur and Merlin couldn’t hate each other. The dragon had promised. But, even if Arthur had been too sick to know where he was he had known who he was talking to. Merlin swallowed again. He couldn’t think about this now- not when there was nothing he could do to fix it, not when Arthur couldn’t hear him. 

Pushing himself to his feet again, Merlin looked around desperate for something to distract him. The idea briefly occurred to him to go for help but the thought repelled him. Merlin couldn’t leave Arthur. Even if he could, he couldn’t stomach the idea of people swarming into the room, pushing him aside, creating all sorts of commotion and still not really being able to do anything to help Arthur. It was better to carry on as he was.  
*  
Merlin was staring into the fire when he became aware that he was being watched. He smiled. “How are you feeling?”

Arthur took a moment to consider the question while he continued to study Merlin with an indecipherable expression. “Weak, tired.” Arthur finally admitted. He made a motion to try and sit up but gave up with a soft groan before Merlin could make any move to either help or restrain him.

“I think you must have lost more blood than you realized.” Merlin had gotten up to get a cup of water. “I think the cut was actually fairly deep.” Arthur shrugged and let Merlin support some of his weight as he sipped unenthusiastically.

“Arthur,” Merlin resumed when the water was gone. “I think it might be a good idea- I think it might help if I tried a bit of magic.” Merlin watched Arthur carefully. He had wrestled with himself for a long time. On the one hand, he really didn’t want his magic to be rejected- which seemed to be Arthur’s most likely reaction. He also didn’t want Arthur to feel like Merlin was trying to push magic on him. On the other hand, something felt wrong about Arthur’s injury. Merlin trusted his instincts.

“You’ve said that you weren’t very good at healing.” Arthur answered guardedly.

“I’m not, not really.” Merlin acknowledged. “But I think it might be a good idea to try, Sire. Something doesn’t feel right. Even if I can’t help, I won’t make it worse. I promise.”

Arthur moved his hand over his bandaged torso and pressed gently, then a bit more firmly. He bit his lip. Merlin guessed at Arthur’s thoughts. He could see his master weigh his uneasiness about magic against the fact that he felt terrible. Arthur was probably also thinking about what it would be like to travel with the injury. It would certainly make things easier if Merlin’s magic could help even a little.

“What doesn’t feel right?” Arthur finally asked turning to look at Merlin. Merlin could only shake his head. It wasn’t something he could explain. He just felt it.

When it became apparent Merlin didn’t have an answer Arthur turned his gaze back up to the ceiling. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“What?”

“This,” Arthur jabbed his finger at his bandaged torso. Merlin hissed and moved to protect the injury from further poking. He gave Arthur a dark look- a look that went completely unnoticed. “I feel awful but this doesn’t hurt. I think it probably ought to.”

“Yeah, it probably should.” Merlin agreed.

“Try your magic, then.” Arthur conceded wearily.

“Good.” Merlin nodded several times. “Good. Um, all right.” Arthur set his jaw, bracing himself for sudden pain. 

“All right, um, it shouldn’t hurt.” Merlin reassured. He was nervous and his palms were sweating. He didn’t know exactly what he intended to do. He didn’t have a particular spell in mind. He hoped he could just rely on the strength of his magic to do what needed to be done without any conscious direction from him. It so often worked that way when he was in need- except when it didn’t.

Gently Merlin placed his hand on Arthur’s side. He put his thoughts in order then nudged his magic towards the wound. There was resistance. Something was hindering the flow of his magic. Merlin pushed at it. Suddenly- for just a second- magic rushed from Merlin. His eyes drifted closed as whatever had stood against his magic crumbled to nothing. Merlin called his magic back, pulling against the flood until the power was under control again. Merlin’s eyes shot open and he was still for several seconds.

“Was that it?”

“Yes. I think so.” Merlin took a few deep breaths. “What happened? Do you feel better?” Merlin asked. He knew something had happened but he wasn’t sure what. It hadn’t felt like healing magic, but Merlin couldn’t say for certain.

“Your eyes changed color and then it felt like I’d been punched in the gut.” Arthur responded. He had propped himself up on his elbows and he was looking around the room as though he hadn’t taken in the fact that he had been lying on the floor until just then. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at Merlin.

“Sorry. It shouldn’t have hurt.” Even as Merlin spoke it was clear whatever he had done had caused more good than harm. Arthur was still pale but he looked so much healthier, so much more vital that Merlin had to struggle to hold in a laugh.

“It’s all right.” Arthur answered pushing himself into a sitting position. He favored his side but he moved easily. “My side hurts but I don’t feel like I want to die anymore so . . .progress.”

Merlin winced. “I don’t see how this can be an accident. Someone did this. Someone was trying to hurt you or kill you right in the middle of the knights. Maybe even make it look like the knights were responsible.”

Arthur sighed and used a combination of Merlin and nearby furniture to pull himself up onto the bench. “We can’t be sure of that. Sometimes strange things happen. Even if it wasn’t an accident there isn’t anything we can do about it without a- well, without a witch hunt.”

Merlin sat beside Arthur and the two leaned against one another for a moment. Arthur felt warm and solid against Merlin’s shoulder. It was only now with Arthur mostly himself again that Merlin realized how frail and almost insubstantial he had been mere minutes before. It had to have been magic. “We have to do something, Sire. People can’t just wander up and try to kill you.” 

“Rumors of a magical assassination attempt would panic the entire kingdom. If we had the culprit along with incontrovertible evidence of his guilt that would be one thing but as it stands. . .” Arthur shrugged and Merlin felt the movement throughout his own body.

“So we wait and hope whoever did this leaves more evidence on his next attempt.” 

“More or less.” Arthur answered as he bent his head and rubbed at the skin between his eyes and along the bridge of his nose. It was such a familiar gesture. It was so typically Arthur that Merlin lost the heart to argue. 

“Are you still feeling better?” Merlin asked instead. “It seems mad but it hasn’t even been an hour since Percival left.”

“I feel all right.” Arthur replied and then more quietly, “I could do with a bit of rest, though.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Merlin asked jumping up to gather the pillow and blanket to return them to the bed.

“Not particularly, no.” Arthur drawled. “I should be able to make it to my own chambers.” 

“Bold words for a man who hasn’t managed to stand up yet.”

“That’s enough of your cynicism.” Arthur replied, coming to his feet with one arm braced against the table. He waited a moment and then decided he was stable enough and let go of the table.

“Well done.” Merlin praised. “Here you should probably wear this.” Merlin held Arthur’s gambeson open so that Arthur could slip his arms into the sleeves.

“Magic?” Arthur asked as he looked at cloth that less than an hour before had been torn and soaked with blood but was now sewn and clean.

“Some.” Merlin acknowledged.

“Thank you.”

“It’s still my job unless you’ve sacked me without telling me.” Merlin smiled as he reflexively adjusted the fabric over Arthur’s shoulders.

“I meant thank you for. . .the other part.”

“Again.” Merlin prompted.

“Don’t get greedy, Merlin.” Arthur warned.

“No, Sire, not me.” Merlin shook his head emphatically. “Besides, it is just another part of my job.”

Arthur didn’t reply.

The walk from Gaius’s chamber to Arthur’s was slow but uneventful. Arthur sighed as he sank into his usual chair. There were still several hours before anyone had a claim on his time. Arthur was grateful. He very much wanted to do nothing. He might even try to sleep a bit. Tired as he was, though, he doubted sleep would come to him. 

Merlin went around the room putting things in order. Things weren’t really out of order but the habit was deeply ingrained. Arthur watched through half closed eyes as the morning’s events played over in his head. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Merlin froze. He had let himself believe Arthur didn’t remember the details of that morning. Merlin didn’t want Arthur to remember because for a moment Merlin was sure Arthur hated him and Merlin couldn’t bear it. “You always yell at me.” Merlin said without turning around from where he was straightening pairs of boots in a cupboard. His voice sounded thick and strained in his own ears.

“Yes and whose fault is that?”

“Yours I should think.” Merlin’s voice had regained some of its natural tone.

“You wouldn’t say that if you spent more time in your company.” Arthur retorted.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Merlin felt on safe ground again.

“It makes perfect sense.” Merlin smiled but Arthur was stubborn. “Still, I didn’t intend to yell at you like that.” He didn’t intend that Merlin should see how much he meant it.

Merlin was quiet a while but then he turned to look at Arthur; Arthur, the man who was his destiny; Arthur who was strong and brave and beautiful and golden- Arthur who might just hate him a little bit even as he seemed to be trying very hard not to. “You can though- yell. I mean, if it will help. You never really did that much yelling when I told you. It seemed strange, you know? Maybe it would be- I don’t know- healthy.”

Arthur was about to reply that he really didn’t think it would make much difference but he caught himself. Things weren’t right. So much was obvious and had been for a while. The morning’s events only made that clearer. That morning while he’d been poisoned or enchanted or delirious or whatever it was he had felt fear- worse than fear he had felt genuine terror. He had felt powerless, torn apart, broken into jagged shards. He had felt dread and hopelessness and crushing loneliness. But the memory of those emotions from that morning was not what bothered him.

What bothered Arthur was not that he had felt those emotions that morning; it was the realization that he’d been feeling those emotions nearly constantly for more than a month. It wasn’t as intense certainly. He could control it usually, but that wild anger-edged terror was never far beneath the surface. The helpless fury crept into every small moment of pleasure until he stopped looking for anything that might make him happy because that was where the rage was waiting. Dread weighed him down and turned every movement, every breath into an effort- an effort that felt less and less like it was worth making. Arthur was worried because the time had long since passed when he needed to face the fact that it wasn’t getting better- not really. The hurt was not healing.

There was no way that yelling at Merlin was going to be the solution but time had proven that Arthur wasn’t getting over his sense of loss and betrayal. The third thing that Arthur had not told Merlin about the day of Merlin’s confession had festered. Arthur was rotting from the inside and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried ignoring it. He had tried telling himself it didn’t matter. He had tried telling himself to just get used to it because it couldn’t be helped and there was no use in dwelling on it. Then he had tried ignoring it again but nothing helped.

Arthur’s thoughts turned to the story of the Fisher King. It was said that the king had been dealt a blow that would not heal, that sapped his strength day-by-day, month-by-month, and year-by-year until his kingdom had become a wasteland. Arthur hadn’t considered the story much before. Even when he had quested for the trident Arthur had only given passing thought to the man behind the legend. Now, though, the parallels struck him like a slap to the face. 

Merlin had said that he had spoken to the Fisher King. That desiccated shell of a man had- moments before Arthur had seen him- been alive, alive and desperate to die. He had begged Merlin to end his suffering and Merlin- kind, helpful Merlin- had put him out of his misery. Arthur was not going to let it come to that for him. He would not sit passively while everything he cared about was brought to ruin because of him.

“I don’t want to yell at you, Merlin. I don’t want to be angry.” And it was true. Arthur didn’t want to be angry. He had fought hard to overthrow the hold all these black emotions had over his spirit. He wanted to be free. He wanted to forget. He wanted it not to have happened.

“You are, though.” Merlin had gotten to his feet. He hugged his arms around his chest. Arthur was aware that Merlin was unhappy. It gave him no pleasure. “You may as well talk about it. I mean, it can’t hurt.”

“That’s what Gwen says.”

“Well, there you are, then.” Merlin shuffled over to the table and sat down. He grinned. It was a little frayed around the edges but it still radiated Merlin’s usual gormless benevolence.

Arthur wasn’t convinced that it couldn’t hurt but he did want to talk to Merlin. He always talked to Merlin because Merlin was always there, always his friend and he always helped- even if the help consisted solely of being there and being his friend. Arthur wanted Merlin to understand. 

It wasn’t that easy, though. Arthur wasn’t sure he could talk about it and keep his anger in check. He felt fairly well pickled in anger already and this was while he was actively trying to subdue it. If he stopped fighting it Arthur was afraid rage would overwhelm him, topple his reason and drown his nobler instincts. 

Then, there was the voice. The voice warned Arthur not to be any stupider than he could help. Never tell an enemy your weaknesses. Never explain where an attack would do the most damage. Never let an adversary know you’ve been wounded.

Merlin wasn’t an enemy, though. Arthur didn’t believe in treating people who weren’t enemies as if they were. Or at least he hoped he didn’t. It was hard to tell. 

“It’s as much my fault as yours- more, probably.” Arthur began. He had thought about this so much but he had no idea how to talk about it. He would, though- if for no other reason than to show the damn voice he could be pushed only so far before he shoved back. 

“You made decisions, Merlin, alone and in secret that affected me and all of Camelot. You had no right to make those decisions, no authority- only power. That should not have been enough. That’s where it’s my fault. You see, I couldn’t stop you. I didn’t even know it was happening. Even when it was as blatant as you drafting your own private battle plan so you and Lancelot could go after the cup of life independent of anything I or any of the other knights risking their lives on that mission knew. Even then, I still didn’t see.”

“I know why, of course.” Arthur went on. The words were coming a little easier now. “You were the only one with all the facts. You were the only one with the power to act. You were the only one who could see everything that was happening. You didn’t have a choice. It was all up to you- except it wasn’t. It didn’t have to be. You didn’t trust me, Merlin. I’m not sure you even wanted to. I’m not sure you trust me now.” A weight was lifting from Arthur’s heart. He hadn’t said all he meant to, not yet. Still, his nerves, which had felt like freshly butchered meat for weeks, were beginning to calm.

“I do trust you, Arthur. Of course I do.” Merlin’s stomach was in knots but he was glad Arthur was finally talking to him. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t have told you about everything. I couldn’t tell you before because you would have sent me away- that would probably have even been the right decision in a way- with your father and everything- but I couldn’t let that happen. On top of that it seemed like every second day someone would do something terrible with magic. I didn’t want you to think about me like I was one of them. I was so afraid, Arthur. Keeping you safe was more important than being honest. It didn’t have anything to do with trust. And you’re wrong if you think I didn’t always believe in you, if I didn’t always consider what you would have wanted.” Merlin had done and refrained from doing any number of things because of what Arthur would have wanted. At the very least Uther would have been dead a dozen times over if Merlin hadn’t cared about what Arthur wanted.

“Sometimes you used your magic to directly go against what I wanted- what I had decided. I couldn’t even argue about it.” Arthur’s temples had begun to throb. This was so close to the heart of it. Not that the rest of it was unimportant but for everything else Arthur was able to summon a measure of detachment. He was able glimpse matters as Merlin had seen them and he could build with that understanding a layer between himself and the hurt.

“When?” Merlin demanded. He had been so careful, so vigilant, so cautious. Oh, maybe there had been a few times when Merlin might have played some harmless pranks, maybe for a bit of a joke or a way to vent some of his frustration. Surely that could not be held too hard against him. Wasn’t Merlin entitled to vindicate his own pride once in a while. Why was it that Arthur was allowed to do anything he liked with Merlin, push him, insult him, break him into little pieces, wring his heart dry, give him air to breathe and light to see or deny them to him and Merlin just had to take it? Yes so maybe once in a while he’d used magic to get a little of his own back but that was the worst of what he’d done. And it had been harmless, harmless except that Merlin couldn’t tell Arthur he’d never used magic against him, harmless except that Arthur believed Merlin hid behind his secret to strike out with his power for petty reasons. Harmless… 

Still, on the whole Merlin was proud of himself. He was not Gilli or Morgause. He did not use his power selfishly or manipulatively. He had never enriched himself at the expense of someone else- not ever. He hadn’t even really been tempted to do so. He had certainly never been tempted to take a decision away from Arthur- not even when he thought Arthur was making a mistake. That was the last thing he would ever want to do.

Arthur goggled at Merlin for a moment before starting to count on his fingers: “When the Dorocha attacked you knew I was meant to seal the rift but in the last moments you and Lancelot both went renegade. When Morgana’s mercenaries were pursuing us and you were injured. You knew damn well we should have stayed together but you brought down a cliffside to separate us. When I was meant to go on a quest by myself-“

“But I had to do those things, Arthur.” Merlin interjected, almost smiling with relief. “You were in immediate danger. Maybe- maybe I placed too much value on keeping my secret. Maybe I could have gone about things in a different way but I’m not going to apologize for doing what I had to to keep you safe. Don’t you see that that’s always going to be most important?”

“Damn it, Merlin! Do you think dying is the worst thing that can happen to a person?” Arthur was angry but this anger felt clean somehow whereas before all his emotions had been polluted.

“What do you mean?” Merlin was suddenly uneasy.

“Do you remember the day Morgana and Agravaine brought mercenaries into Camelot?”

Merlin nodded.

“It wasn’t a good day.” Arthur said sardonically. “It was- I-“ Arthur stopped and closed his eyes.

“There was so much loss that day.” Arthur started again. “The last of my mother’s kin joined with the last of my father’s kin to destroy what we should have all protected together. Gwen was gone. Lancelot was dead for a second time. People who had trusted me to keep them safe were being killed or burned out of their homes. I thought I had lost everything.”

“I hadn’t lost everything- not then, not yet. I didn’t understand how much I still had.” Arthur stopped again and waited for the tightness in his throat to go away. “It wasn’t until you, Merlin, decided that my free will was inconvenient that I lost everything.”

“I’m better off- Camelot is better off with me dead than as some soulless puppet, a wizard’s plaything. How could you do that to me, Merlin? I trusted you.”

Merlin swallowed. He couldn’t speak. For a shame-filled moment, he was tempted to blame Gaius. It would not have occurred to him to enchant Arthur without Gaius’s suggestion but he could hardly blame the old man. Merlin loved Gaius but Merlin had known from very early on that it was important not to become Gaius.

That night had been chaos. Everything had seemed to happen at once. Merlin hadn’t had the opportunity to think about anything except the urgency of escape. Arthur was injured and being stubborn. Merlin had seized on the first solution that presented itself and thought no more about it. He should have thought about it. Yes, he could see that. But . . .

“It wasn’t like that, Arthur.” Merlin somehow found his voice. “I should not have done it that way- you’re right. I can see where that was a poor decision. But, it was an emergency. I couldn’t let-“ Merlin bit his lip. “There was no time to think for any of us. I couldn’t let you get killed just because your first instinct was to single-handedly take on a powerful sorceress and an army of mercenaries.” 

“What about the next emergency? And the next? I can make decisions for myself just so long as you approve? I won’t have that! Merlin, with a wave of your hand you turned me into a thing- an object. How am I supposed to live with that? How am I supposed to live with that knowing in any moment you might decide to do it again?”

For weary days the knowledge of what Merlin had done- and what Merlin could still do had grown rancid inside Arthur. There had been moments in the long emptiness of his nights when Arthur had wanted to kill Merlin for it- not out of hatred or vengeance or even anger but because killing Merlin was the closest Arthur could ever come to making it not have happened. Arthur wanted it not to have happened.

Merlin had not understood what he had done. Arthur knew that. Sometimes Arthur thought that that ignorance was Merlin’s saving grace. If Merlin had understood what he was doing, he wouldn’t have done it. Therefore, Merlin was still a good person and not a monster. Yet, how could he not know? How did you reach inside someone and turn off his soul leaving his body as so much living meat and not understand what that meant? 

Arthur didn’t remember it. He would never have known if Merlin had not told him. The fear that there had been other times that Merlin had not told him about ate away at Arthur’s sense of self. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if he had known while it was happening. Had he been trapped to watch helplessly as his animated corpse danced through the motions of what had once been his life only to wake with no memory of it? There were times when the amnesia felt like a blessing but usually it just felt like one more part of himself that had been stolen.

Arthur had killed people- a lot of people. Sometimes he killed with his own hands-close enough that he saw the light die in their eyes. And not everyone he had killed had deserved to die. Some were accidents. Some were mistakes. Some had been sacrificed to preserve what Arthur believed to be a greater good. Arthur pushed people, too. Sometimes he was gentle but sometimes he pushed hard, hard enough to find people’s limits, hard enough to convince them to give in. He bullied, coerced and applied duress to get what he wanted. The truth that what Arthur wanted was almost always the good of Camelot did nothing to change the preceding facts. He had no illusions that he had been, was and almost certainly would be the cause of suffering. Sometimes he felt justified and sometimes he was so badly haunted that he didn’t think he could go on. Yet, for all that he had done, Arthur had never made anyone into a slave.

“It wasn’t like that, Arthur.” Merlin repeated helplessly. “I wouldn’t- How could you think I would ever-. It wasn’t like that.” The wheels in Merlin’s brain refused to turn. What Arthur said he’d done was so radically different from what Merlin thought he’d done that Merlin couldn’t take it in.

Arthur was surprised at how calm he felt. The few times he had let himself imagine talking to Merlin, this was always the point where he lost control. Now- after he had explained what had happened and what it had meant to him and Merlin denied the truth of that experience- that was always the moment in Arthur’s imagination when his anger turned violent. 

He had imagined himself striking Merlin, shaking him, pushing him into the wall and pressing his forearm into Merlin’s throat. Arthur had wanted to see fear kindle in Merlin’s eyes as he struggled helplessly in the grip of someone he had thought cared about him. Arthur had wanted Merlin to feel in his failing fight for breath and his blurring vision the devastation of betrayal.

Arthur did not lose control. He did not want to hurt Merlin. Gods, Arthur wanted to protect the little idiot. Arthur had found the center of the maelstrom where everything was still and calm and washed clean. He felt a certainty that he had not experienced since before Merlin’s confession. The feeling of confidence was so foreign that it took Arthur a few moments to recognize it for what it was.

“If you ever do it again, Merlin, to anyone, for any reason then- while my will remains my own- I am done with you.” 

Nothing had been solved. Nothing had changed. And yet Arthur found that he was no longer afraid- not the way he had been. He was no closer to achieving his quest than before. Arthur had no more insight into how to unite the magical and non-magical into a single people. Yet, somehow the problems suddenly seemed manageable. The future no longer felt filled with ominous foreboding. Arthur had been fighting a battle that he had believed in his heart was unwinnable but that he had also believed must still be fought. For the first time since Merlin’s confession, Arthur felt that the things he said and did might actually matter.

The strange and sudden shift in Arthur’s perspective continued as Merlin seemed to change before his eyes. It was as though he had not seen Merlin in a long time. The two had been daily in each other’s company but that Merlin had seemed different to Arthur- a stranger behind a familiar mask, sinister in his almostness. Now, Merlin was himself again and Arthur felt the last of the poison drain from him. In its place a wellspring of emotions that had been inaccessible before flowed forth.

“Merlin.” Arthur could not keep the warmth, the impatience, the protectiveness or the wonder from flooding his voice. How could he have ever seen a stranger in Merlin’s awkward limbs, absurd grin and earnest gaze? 

Hearing his name, Merlin’s awareness jerked back to the present and he cringed away from it. As Arthur had been reencountering hope, Merlin had been caught in a tangled net of his own conflicting thoughts. Merlin could not accept that he had done what Arthur had said he’d done. He would not have hurt Arthur that way. He could not. Arthur was misinterpreting what had happened. He was letting the fear Uther had sewn in him turn a situation where Merlin had- yes, all right- deceitfully, unwisely but always devotedly, lovingly used magic to keep Arthur safe and turned it into something- something evil. 

Merlin was cold. He tried to make himself as small as possible to conserve his warmth but it didn’t make a difference. Struggling to find some kind of rationalization Merlin remembered Morgana and the Fomorroh. That had been bad certainly, but it did not haunt Merlin. So why was Arthur so upset? Not that what Merlin had done was anything like the Fomorroh. Merlin had not acted with malice. So, it was different.

Trying to conjure the scene Merlin summoned the image of Morgana’s hovel. He had been afraid as she taunted him with her plans. Not that afraid, though, not really. He had always felt his magic safe inside him. He could have fought her. He could have stopped her- he could have tried. Merlin hadn’t tried. 

Merlin struggled to recreate that moment. Why hadn’t he tried? He had been groggy; weak from his injury but bashing someone’s skull in with the nearest blunt instrument hardly required concentration- Morgana would have never seen it coming. Then there was the secret, of course- always the secret. That had not been the first time Merlin had instinctively favored keeping the secret of his magic over his own safety. 

There was more, though. Merlin had some thought that his magic might protect him, that destiny would not allow Arthur to come to harm by Merlin’s hand. There was Gaius, too. The physician would recognize what was wrong and devise a way to fix it. Morgana knew Merlin as no more than a very lucky idiot so that was the material from which she would craft her assassin. It had been a risk- perhaps a foolish risk- but Merlin had not been helpless. Merlin had trusted that his magic and the secret that guarded his magic would see him safely through. Morgana could not control him because he had never allowed Morgana to see him for who he truly was.

What would it have been like to face the Fomorroh without magic? Without any hope of resistance or escape? What would it be like to face a power that could destroy everything he valued in himself but leave him alive so that it could happen again and again? And what would it have been like if Arthur had been the one to use the Fomorroh on him? Merlin’s imagination balked and hot tears burned his icy cheeks because Merlin knew with utter certainty that Arthur would never have done that to him. Arthur would never do that to anyone. 

“Merlin?” Arthur called again. This time, Merlin did look up at Arthur, for there was no refuge in his own mind. Merlin bit his lip and dug his fingernails into his arms. The mild pain helped to pull him back to the present. “It’s all right, Merlin.”

“Is it?” Merlin asked hoarsely. From what he had understood of the past few minutes nothing would ever be all right again.

Arthur considered. It shouldn’t be all right. For many days Arthur’s world had been shrinking to the size of a coffin. Nothing had changed. 

Except something had changed. Something he could not express. And somehow it was all right. No doubt Arthur would still experience the psychological equivalent of joints that would ache and swell in the cold or a muscle that would never quite regain its former strength but he could breathe again.

“Yes.” On impulse, Arthur reached out and placed a hand over Merlin’s white knuckled fingers. In the next instant Merlin had moved so that their hands were palm to palm, fingers intertwined. Arthur decided that this was acceptable but that it was just as well not to really think about it. “I’m not entirely sure why and I imagine why is important but yes. It is all right.”

“You don’t hate me? After all that?” Merlin stared at their joined hands. He felt the heat and pressure of Arthur’s grip and he was tempted to test the strength of it. He wanted to try to pull away and for Arthur to stop him, to hold him fast. But Merlin wasn’t sure that Arthur would try to hold him, so Merlin tightened his grip.

“I don’t hate you.” Arthur suddenly shook his head and heaved an exasperated sigh. “I love you, you idiot. Do you think you could have done this to me if I didn’t?”

“I won’t . . . again. God, Arthur, I won’t. I won’t ever use magic that way again. Not anyone for any reason. Never again. I can’t bear that I hurt you when all I’ve ever wanted to do is protect you. I can’t bear to think about it. I can’t . . . But, you won’t regret giving me another chance.” Merlin trailed off. He knew that he was probably crying. It couldn’t be helped. Arthur didn’t hate him. Arthur loved him. How could Merlin ever have risked that? 

Arthur inclined his head to accept Merlin’s assurances. There was quiet for a time. Arthur felt the same way he did after a hard day of training when- muscles quivering with exhaustion- he would finally take off his armor. After so many hours, the extra weight had become a part of him. So, when it was gone he would suddenly feel so light. And despite his fatigue he could move easily again. Arthur was tired, his side ached and the muscles in his shoulders, neck and jaw were like knotted rope but the feeling of lightness lifted him up. 

“You know I’m not him. You understand that, don’t you?” Arthur said smiling a little. The things that had hurt so much such a short time ago were now at some remove and Arthur could look at them with a semblance of objectivity.

“Hmm?” Merlin replied still gazing at his fingers entwined with Arthur’s.

“The Once and Future King that the dragon was on about.” Arthur explained gesturing with his left hand and keeping his right locked with Merlin’s. “I doubt there is such a thing at all- but even if there is it’s not me. I know you must be . . . disappointed but you must see that now. We will have to muddle along anyway. Unless of course, you ever do find him.” Arthur knew that if Merlin ever did encounter his mythological king- the paragon of courage, wisdom, strength, generosity and- no doubt- perfectly straight teeth, then Merlin would be by that man’s side in the blink of an eye. And who could blame him.

Merlin tore his gaze from the study of their joined hands to look into Arthur’s eyes. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. He shook with his laughter. Tears leaked from his tired eyes and cut a path down the already salt tightened skin of his cheeks. He brought his free hand up to cover his face but he couldn’t stop.

It was not until Merlin felt Arthur begin to pull away from him that he regained control. Merlin clutched Arthur’s hand as hard as he was able. “I’m going to remind you that you said that when all Albion is at peace and united under your law.”

Merlin felt Arthur’s hesitation against his palm and straining fingers. But in the next moment, Arthur’s grip tightened to match the strength of Merlin’s. Then, because Arthur was Arthur, he exceeded it by a small but discernible amount. It hurt but that was what Merlin wanted in that moment.

“And I’m sure I’ll feel very silly.” Arthur drawled clearly unconvinced but willing to let the matter rest. “I missed you, Merlin.”

“I missed you, too.” Merlin echoed and then added because the reasons not to speak felt foolish suddenly. “Please don’t- don’t go away like that again. I love you, Arthur. I know you don’t believe in the whole destiny thing and you don’t have to. I’ll believe for both of us- although it may not matter either way. And I know you don’t want me to go swearing anything yet because-. But you need to know that you don’t have to worry about me. I’m yours, Arthur.”

Arthur pondered a moment before breaking into a pleased grin. “Good.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Don’t touch it. You’ll ruin it!”

“The magic hasn’t started, so there is nothing to ruin.” Elyan defended as he stared at Gawain reproachfully and shook the fingers the other knight had smacked.

Gwen was too full of nervous excitement to pay much heed to Gawain and her brother. She was spending too much effort trying to prevent herself from bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The lady Edwina was standing next to the Queen and she seemed more nervous than excited. Gwen took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “This is going to be fun. You’ll see.”

Edwina nodded trustingly but she kept hold of her friend’s hand.

“Now, you’ve tilted it. How’s Merlin supposed to work with you in the way?”

“You’re the one who told him to move over so that you could see better!”

“Gawain, Elyan, both of you take three steps back.” Arthur commanded irritably from where he was standing- boxed in by Leon and Bedivere- nearly fifteen feet from the round disk of highly polished bronze that was the focus of all their attention.

Gwen smiled sympathetically at her husband as the two knights shuffled back a very short three steps. Arthur was annoyed because Leon and Bedivere had quietly made it clear that they would prefer that he stay at a safe distance during this experiment. Arthur could have overruled them but he preferred to choose his battles carefully- giving in now meant that he would get less argument when there was something risky that he really wanted to do.

It was even worse for Gwen. She and Edwina were a few feet further back than Arthur. Percival and Edwina’s husband Sir Lamorak were standing near them ready to protect the ladies from any danger. Guinevere felt touched by the knights’ concern but she had no doubt that everything was perfectly safe.

“Nearly there, Merlin?” Arthur inquired in the tone of one who believes he has been exceedingly patient in the face of minimal competence.

“Yes, Sire. Almost there.” Merlin replied in the tone of one speaking to a child on the verge of a tantrum. “There!”

With a final wave of his hand, the surface of the bronze disk began to shimmer and puddle. Beside Gwen, Edwina made a tiny ‘yip’ and then turned beet red as Gawain turned to give her a wink and a smirk. Gwen squeezed her hand again. The image in the disk resolved but Guinevere could not tell what she was looking at.

“Merlin! Step back, you’re far too close.” Gaius’s voice sounded amid the small gathering as loudly and clearly as though he were standing among them.

Brow wrinkling Gwen suddenly realized that what she was looking at was a very close view of Gaius’s nose and upper lip. The image was unnerving and Gwen shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot until Gaius retreated a few paces and the mirror revealed Kay, Geoffrey and Dagonet clustered nervously together in Gaius’s workshop.

“Can you hear me?” Merlin asked taking a few steps backward.

“Yes, perfectly.” Gaius had stepped out of view but his voice sounded clearly.

“Good.” Merlin turned to Arthur and nodded before moving to the side.

Arthur stared at the image of Kay and the others in Camelot as they seemed to stare back. There was silence for a few moments. Gwen took in the incredible detail she saw in the image. It was as though a window had been opened in space that looked out onto a room miles away. She couldn’t comprehend it. She felt herself drawn forward. She felt a perverse and terrifying impulse to reach through that window. It was the same fascination that could overtake someone standing on a cliff’s edge and compel a perfectly sane person to ask ‘what if I just . . . jumped’. She felt a wave of vertigo and it took all her self-control not to drop down to her hands and knees to feel the solid, safe ground beneath her.

“Kay?” Arthur spoke tentatively. At the sound of her husband’s voice, Gwen was able to tear her mesmerized gaze from the impossibility before her. She took a few quick breaths and looked around. Everyone was standing rigidly with wide eyes. Gwen caught Merlin’s eye briefly and he offered her a shy self-deprecating smile. The Queen could only shake her head at him incredulously.

“Sire?” Kay replied with the same uncertainty.

Arthur nodded once as though to confirm to himself that his senses were not in fact deceiving him before squaring his shoulders. “Report.” The King commanded with no more trace of hesitation.

A ripple passed through the people on both sides of the impossible window. It was as though in that moment both groups came to an acceptance of what was before them. Though what they saw was still miraculous the moment of paralyzed amazement was over. Kay blinked rapidly several times but then began to speak about the affairs of Camelot in his typically efficient manner.

As Gwen and the others had only left Camelot that morning there was very little news of which the Queen was not already aware so Gwen gave Kay’s words little attention. Rather she became absorbed in studying the images before her. She no longer experienced vertigo as she gazed at the off-scale pictures of people she knew very well but she was no less fascinated. The Queen could not begin to imagine how such a thing was possible. She looked around her hoping to catch the eye of one of her companions and thus gain confirmation that this was a shared experience and not some wild dream. 

Though Edwina still held the Queen’s hand with bruising force she did not turn from the window to meet Gwen’s gaze. On her other side, Percival did share a brief glance with Gwen. A little self-consciously Gwen reached for his hand. The tall knight grasped it firmly before turning back to the tableau before them. 

Surprisingly Leon had turned away completely from the window. He was busily chivying the knights and guardsman that were slowly coagulating around the group before the mirror. Gwen heard him murmur “stop gawping”, “if you don’t have anything to do then the horses need tending” and “try to behave as if you had some sense.” 

Arthur had chosen to try the experiment with the mirror within camp. While this meant a number of curious stares the hope was that if it was done in the open then the men of their camp would soon become accustomed to a magical call to Camelot. In the meanwhile, Leon meant to keep the knights and guardsmen from getting too distracted. Gwen admired Leon’s ability to turn away.

As Gwen continued to watch, a few words caught her attention. She immediately returned her focus to Kay. The Seneschal was reporting that Accolon had not been seen by anyone yesterday or today. His things were no longer in his rooms but no one knew where he had gone or for what purpose.

Gwen frowned. Accolon had been the knight to accidentally injure Arthur the day before last. The story had not been told to Gwen until the evening and she had had to hear it from Elyan. When the Queen insisted upon seeing what damage had been done she was shown stitches running down what appeared to be a nearly entirely healed cut spanning several inches across Arthur’s side. Arthur had been surprised that the wound was nearly healed but he explained that Merlin had had a go at healing and it must have gone better than they had thought.

This news was troubling to Gwen because she knew that if Arthur had let Merlin ‘have a go’ at healing then Arthur must have believed he was in perilous straits indeed. Yet, Arthur did not seem particularly concerned by the injury. At the same time, the freezing shroud of unhappiness that had enveloped Arthur for so long was suddenly gone. This was ultimately more interesting to Gwen and she had left off pressing for details about the accident to press for details about how Arthur had so suddenly decided that Merlin was once again welcome in his heart. For all Gwen’s gentle questions, she hadn’t ended with an understanding of either event and no notion if the two were connected.

Now, it seemed that the knight who had injured Arthur had fled Camelot. That brought all sorts of grim suspicions to the Queen’s mind. Merlin stood at the side of the bronze disk and by the tight line of his lips and furrowed brow; his attention had also been caught. 

Arthur suggested to Kay that a message be sent to Accolon’s family inquiring about any information they might have on the errant knight’s whereabouts as well as ask patrols to keep an eye out. Kay nodded with the air of a man who had already anticipated what was being asked of him. Guinevere could not tell from Arthur’s tone if he was upset by the news of Accolon’s absence.

Before long Kay had given an exhaustive account of the day’s events and he had no more to say. He had talked longer than he had probably needed to but the window had made them all nervous and the report had given him something normal to cling to.

“We will speak again tomorrow at sundown.” Arthur looked at Merlin rather than at Kay for confirmation.

“Yes, Sire.” Kay confirmed anyway. “We will be ready.”

“Good.” There was an awkward moment of silence. “Right then. See you tomorrow. Merlin?”

Startled Merlin looked at Arthur and realized that it was time to break the connection. With a sheepish grin, the sorcerer raised his hand across the surface of the disk.

Gwen could not help herself. “Good night, Kay!” she called and waved her hand at the dour knight who was miles away. She had just enough time to see Kay start to raise his hand to return her wave before he was gone and all she could see was her own reflection waving and grinning madly.

No one moved or spoke for several second in the aftermath. Then, Gawain whistled softly. The next moment everyone was moving and speaking at once. Elyan was demanding- more optimistically than pragmatically- how the trick had been done. Gawain was laughing a little wildly and clapping Merlin firmly on the back. Letting go of Edwina’s hand, Gwen went to hug Arthur. As the Queen smiled against his chest, she heard Bedivere say softly to Arthur: “This could change everything.”

Magic was not beyond the experience of anyone there. Even during the ban many in Camelot had borne witness to horrific displays of violent magic. Since the ban had ended a half dozen magic users had come to court. Men and women who had hidden their magic had come forward. They came to tell their stories and to show Arthur their magic. Gwen did not entirely understand it but those sorcerers who had lived hidden for so long needed their King to see what they had so carefully kept secret. They had needed some sort of acknowledgment from Arthur before they could truly believe they were free. Gwen wondered how many sorcerers were left in Camelot and how many would need to personally show Arthur what they could do before the worst of the past could be put behind them.

Despite the magic that she had seen, the soul shivering dark magic or the small inoffensive acts nearly indistinguishable from the juggler’s art, Gwen felt that what they had all just witnesses was different. Bedivere was right this could change everything. Gwen found that she was just a little bit afraid and she tightened her arms around Arthur.

“There’s still work to be done.” Merlin said modestly, though he could not keep the smile off his face as the knights clustered around him exclaiming in wonder and congratulation. “Right now there needs to be someone who can use magic on both sides and they need to have a deep emotional connection for it to work at all. On top of that each sorcerer has to cast his spell more or less at the same time.”

“Even so.” Percival said shaking his head.

Arthur returned Gwen’s embrace briefly before taking her hand squeezing it and then letting her go. “All right, Merlin, well done.” Arthur said dryly. “Now, let’s see if there’s any dinner left for us.” Despite his off-hand tone, Arthur reached for Merlin and pulled the other man against him for a one-armed embrace. He let him go then cuffed him gently. The two were smiling inanely at each other as the party broke up in search of food.

The night was clear and the moon was nearly full. The temperature was mild and as the stars shone brightly the campfires had been allowed to burn low. Guinevere had eaten hungrily as one does after a full and exciting day. She was slowly growing sleepy as she sat beside Arthur near their small fire. She was not ready for bed though. It had been a long time since she had an evening like this, surrounded by those she loved on the verge of a great adventure. She wanted to take this feeling and pull it tightly around herself like a blanket.

“I’ve heard people say that some of the Saxons turn into wolves when they go into battle.” Gawain commented. That evening they had talked a lot about the Saxons. The invaders were spoken of with fear throughout Albion but little was truly known about them.

“That’s one of the most absurd rumors I think I’ve ever heard.” Bedivere sniffed.

“Well the fellow who told me may have had more than a few drinks in him at the time.” Gawain conceded graciously.

“Still, do you think the Saxons have magic? With the things people say it makes sense there would be sorcerers among them.” Elyan interjected.

Gwen’s eyes along with those of the others around the fire went automatically to Merlin who shook his head to show that he knew nothing of Saxon sorcery or the lack thereof. It had to be a new experience for Merlin to be regarded as the default expert on all things magical. Gwen understood very well why Merlin resisted telling everyone about how powerful he was. People assumed power automatically came with knowledge and it would upset them to think that people with other worldly power knew no more than themselves about that power.

“If they do have sorcerers it will change our strategy.” Percival spoke thoughtfully. Percival seemed to have no categorical objection to magic and he supported Merlin in particular but his own helplessness to stand against Morgana and what she had done to those he loved gnawed at him.

“We just have to find some sorcerers of our own.” Gawain leaned over to put his arm around Merlin. “Our sorcerers have got to be better than theirs, right?”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to fight beside sorcerers- I mean,” Elyan clarified, “practically speaking. What would it be like to be shooting arrows while the man standing next to you was throwing lightning bolts?”

“Or woman. A lot of sorcerers seem to be women.” Gawain put in. Surprised, Guinevere realized that Gawain was right. She quickly tallied all the people she knew of who had magic and a great deal did seem to be women.

“Well, we can’t have women fighting.” Elyan said.

“Why not?” Gwen demanded. “If there are sorceresses who can fight and who want to then why not?”

Elyan looked around the campfire for help explaining the obvious to his goodhearted but vaguely simple sister. Gwen noticed that while some of the knight’s shared Elyan’s opinion no one volunteered to say anything. “Because women can’t fight. Or they shouldn’t. Women need to be protected. That is a big part of the knight’s code.” Elyan said with condescending patience.

“But women can fight. We know there are a lot of very powerful sorceresses. Why should we deprive ourselves of their skill? Come to that there are plenty of women who are a fair hand with a sword. Why shouldn’t women be allowed to fight with or without magic?” Gwen could not help but picture Morgana Before when she said this and her throat tightened suddenly. The same thought must have come to Arthur and Merlin and perhaps also Leon because all three men’s faces tightened with sadness and Arthur put an arm around Gwen and held her close.

“You have a wonderful point, my lady.” Gawain agreed mischievously. “Don’t you think, Arthur? Shouldn’t a woman be allowed to be a knight if she is able to pass all the tests?”

Because Gwen was leaning against Arthur she felt rather than heard him sigh. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Gawain laughed and some of the others smiled. It wasn’t a real answer but Gwen was not going to press it. As a matter of fairness women deserved a chance but the Queen understood that that would be a controversial position. There was no sense causing a stir before time.

“So will the sorcerers who want to fight and have something to offer be made knights?” Bedivere directed the question to the group but kept a particular eye on Arthur and Merlin.

“No.” Leon shook his head. Gwen looked inquiringly at the knight. She had noticed that he had been quieter than usual for the last few days. “Knighthood isn’t just about fighting. It’s about honor and discipline and a commitment to service and honesty . . .. Just because a sorcerer is willing to fight on our side that doesn’t mean he’s able to keep the knight’s code.” Leon deliberately kept his gaze fixed on the group in general as he spoke.

“The knight’s code needs some change.” Gwen said very gently wishing that Leon were close enough so that she could take his hand. It was an odd thing but Guinevere seemed to want to hug everyone the last few days.

“There’s something to what Leon says.” Bedivere interjected. “Even with the planned revisions, the knight’s code is about how one fights. I don’t see that it could easily apply to sorcerers.”

“We have to hold those who fight for Camelot to a standard. Right now that standard is the knight’s code. Even those who are not knights are expected to take the code as a guide.” Arthur spoke heavily as though he were carving the words in stone.

“Leon’s right, though,” Merlin said. Everyone turned to look at him. Leon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Knighthood is about something very specific and the code reflects that. Maybe there should be a- a magic code as well and the sorcerers who choose to follow it will be- well, not knights but something. And people will know this code so that when they see a sorcerer who is bound by it they’ll know that they’re safe, that there is help if they need it, that they’ve met someone they can trust.”

“Yes, magic does seem like it’s a category of its own- separate from what is traditionally expected of knighthood.” Gwen said after a moment’s silence passed so that everyone could take in Merlin’s words. 

“It seems like there ought to be- I don’t know- categories of knighthood for all sorts of things. People like Kay and Gaius and Geoffrey seem like they ought to be knights of a kind.” Full of new ideas Gwen temporarily forgot that Kay was already a conventional knight. She thought of him as different from the other knights because different things were required of him, not just skills but ways of thinking.

“Like guilds for noblemen?” Elyan asked, deep in thought.

Arthur shook his head. “No, more like guilds for those who devote their skills to the service of the kingdom.”

“It’s ambitious. I mean, a code for magic users employed by the crown? And then on top of that a code for- who? Scholars? Tax collectors? Scribes? Magistrates? Advisers? It’s ambitious.” Bedivere stroked his chin. Despite his cautious words, his eyes glinted with eagerness.

“All these new kinds of knights will need names.” Gawain’s voice trilled with anticipated merriment. “May I suggest we start with the Knights of the Merlin?” This idea was met with amused approval by everyone except Merlin himself who gave Gawain an exasperated look.

Gwen felt Arthur shift away from her and saw out of the corner of her eye that he had reached for Merlin who was sitting on his other side. Arthur put his arm around Merlin’s neck pulling him close to whisper in his ear. Gwen did not hear what was said but Arthur was smirking and Merlin let out a reluctant breath of laughter. Arthur rumpled Merlin’s hair and patted his shoulder before coming back to Guinevere. 

The conversation moved on and Gwen let the sounds of her friends’ voices flow and eddy around her. She drowsily nestled closer to Arthur. It was time for someone to say that they had an early start tomorrow and that they ought to think about getting as much sleep as they could but for the moment Gwen was perfectly happy where she was.

A short while later, when good nights were finally said Gwen made her way to the tent that had been setup for the privacy and convenience of Queen Guinevere, Lady Edwina and the maidservant Meg. No one else had bothered to put up a tent. The night was too mild and no one wanted to bother with the extra time it would take to pack up in the morning. Inside the women’s tent Meg braided Gwen’s hair as Edwina watched from her bedroll.

“Are you happy you came?” Gwen asked. 

“I still can’t believe that enchantment.” Edwina replied shaking her head. “I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like if such a thing became commonplace and I just- I just can’t.”

Gwen laughed. “You should have seen it, Meg. It was amazing.”

“No, thank you, milady.” Meg stated firmly. “I want no part of such things. I mean no disrespect to Gaius or Merlin but I can’t see any use in meddling with spells and charms and the like.”

Gwen nodded in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Meg had many fine qualities. She was loyal and hardworking and thoughtful. Gwen liked her and even though the idea of having a maidservant still felt a little embarrassing to Gwen, Meg was pleasant company. Sometimes, though, Gwen couldn’t help but feel that she would never really have a truly deep friendship with Meg. Still, Gwen felt guilty if she didn’t try to include Meg in conversation whenever the maid was present. 

“You were quiet this evening, Edwina, you weren’t upset?” Gwen returned her attention to her friend. Unlike Meg, Gwen felt a deep kinship with Edwina- though the two had vastly dissimilar backgrounds.

“No. I just- I suppose I wasn’t brave enough to just join in. I didn’t want to make of fool of myself.” Edwina blushed a little. She had envied the easy flow of conversation among the knights and the king and queen and though there had been a few points where she had considered saying something Edwina had thought that if she did say something silly it would embarrass Gwen who she admired very much and Lamorak whose affection was too new to feel entirely stable.

“It will get easier. Believe me, there is nothing you could have said that would be worse than some of the nonsense that has come out of my mouth when I've gotten flustered.” Gwen laughed ruefully. 

“I don’t believe it.” Edwina stated.

“You should ask my brother or Leon or Merlin or, come to think of it, don’t ask them. They’d be far too eager to tell you in detail.”

Edwina laughed. “I’ll take your word for it but I cannot picture it.”

“Would you like anything else, milady?” Meg asked as she finished braiding Gwen’s hair.

“No, thank you. Good night, both of you. Sleep well.” Gwen smiled as she stood up and stretched her arms. Then she collected her bedroll before slipping out of the tent into the night. Gwen took a deep breath of fresh air. With the lantern the tent had been a little stuffy.

“Milady.” Percival greeted from his bedroll nearby.

“G’night, Percival.” Gwen returned. It was sweet of the big knight to be so attentive. Gwen could not think that there were many places safer than the middle of a camp filled with Camelot knights and guardsmen but it was still nice that Percival was willing to more or less sleep at their threshold.

Picking her way carefully toward the nearest fire, Gwen listened to the sounds of camp. She was still several yards short of her goal when she paused.

“I’m sure he meant it as a sign of affection but I wish he’d realize that a dead mouse isn’t a particularly appealing gift.” Gwen heard Merlin say. The exaggerated long-suffering sigh that followed Merlin’s statement was immediately recognizable as Arthur. Gwen could just make the two men out from where she stood in the shadow of an Oak tree. They had laid their bedrolls next to each other and were now lying on their backs looking up at the stars. They were close enough that their shoulders might have touched.

“What?” Merlin demanded and then realization struck him. “Oh, that’s not even close to the same thing. First off, it was a rat not a mouse and second you specifically told me that you wanted it dead.”

“Why don’t you try to capture it?” Arthur suggested, his amusement evident. “Owls can be trained. It is harder though, than training other kinds of hawks because they need to be trained by sound rather than sight.” There was an expectant silence for a moment before Arthur explained a little huffily. “Sir Ector is very fond of birds.”

“I did leave a bit of cheese out for him the last few days to try and coax him inside but it didn’t work.” Merlin admitted.

“Under what possible natural circumstance would owls ever encounter cheese?” 

“The natural circumstance that someone might leave a bit of it out for them.” 

Before Arthur could come up with a response, Gwen moved from the shadows into view.

“Hello.” Arthur greeted leaning up on his elbows and smiling. Merlin also smiled a greeting but he didn’t say anything.

“Do you mind?” Gwen asked, indicating the blanket she had carried with her.

“Of course not.” Turning on his side, Arthur moved closer to Merlin to make room for her. Merlin retreated nearer to Gawain who was snoring softly nearby. Cabal, wakened by Gwen’s arrival and the subsequent maneuvering, got up to nuzzle Gwen’s hand.

As Gwen arranged her blankets she felt a moment’s awkwardness as though she might possibly be intruding somehow. Her anxiety dissipated as soon as she lay down and Arthur placed an arm over her waist. Starlight and the soft sounds of people whispering, sleeping, jostling surrounded her.

“Have Edwina and Meg settled in all right?” Arthur asked softly once they had adjusted themselves together and Gwen could feel the warmth of his chest against her back. Cabal had resettled herself by Gwen’s feet.

“They’re fine- well provided for. I just wanted . . . to be out here.” Gwen whispered back turning her head a little so her voice wouldn’t be muffled.

Arthur murmured something unintelligible and kissed the side of her head. A few minutes later Gwen was fast asleep.  
*  
Grey clouds scudded across a pale sky, keeping the sun hidden. A low wind swept through the grass and gorse making an eerie rustling. There was no road and even among a large group of people there was a lonely feeling to the land. 

Because Gawain was feeling cheerful he had decided the surrounding were romantic rather than merely grim. He maintained this attitude even after a forbidding escort of po-faced men led by one Sir Kenneth met them at the border of Roderick’s kingdom- Vortigen having finally died five days before. 

In the interests of friendliness Gawain had attempted conversation with some of Kenneth’s men but he had met little success. They were worried and resentful. Not even the funniest of Gawain’s anecdotes could lift their somber mood. Gawain did not let this trouble him. He had every confidence that once they arrived at Dobhardhroim Castle and a stout mug of ale could be found everyone’s mood would improve.

Gawain was happy. This did not distinguish him at all from the rest of the company from Camelot. The joyful mood had been with them throughout the entire journey. Gawain was inclined to attribute the easy fellowship they had all experienced to the presence of Guinevere, Edwina and Meg. There was something about the company of women that made everything more pleasant. It was a subtle effect and Gawain did not speak of it for fear that people would roll their eyes and accuse him of being soppy, lecherous or both but he still felt that having women around made time go by agreeably. 

If Gawain were being truly honest with himself, though- and despite his better judgment Gawain found himself occasionally inclined to be so- he would have had to confess that the main reason that everyone from Camelot seemed to be smiling was that Arthur and Merlin were friends again. Gawain was tempted to remember that he had known from the beginning that the two would mend their quarrel and everything would return to normal- but if he was going to keep to the whole honesty lark- Gawain had not actually been certain Arthur and Merlin would reconcile and everything had not returned to normal.

Even a casual observer could quickly see that Arthur and Merlin had an unusually close relationship. The loyalty, affection and even love between the two men were impossible to miss. Gawain was more than the casual observer though and he had witnessed- almost against his will- that in addition to the very real loyalty, affection and love that there was something else. This something else was a little ugly, a little dark. 

Gawain had seen it first in Arthur. It had shocked Gawain to suddenly realize that Arthur was- once in a while- genuinely cruel to Merlin. Arthur would turn cold, disdainful eyes on his most loyal servant and he would speak to diminish, mock and belittle. He would repudiate Merlin’s best efforts and respond to Merlin’s heartfelt solicitude with almost visceral disgust. He acted as though Merlin’s simple presence was an insult he only barely managed to tolerate. Merlin endured these episodes with gentle patience and an almost apologetic resignation. Gawain could not explain it and it troubled and disappointed him. He consoled himself that that was in the nature of the noble class and even the best of them was a bastard at least half the time. So, Gawain told himself, Arthur wasn’t as wonderful as so many people seemed to think him. He had no right to be surprised. 

It was with even greater shock, then, that Gawain realized that Merlin would occasionally- just as inexplicably and unpredictably- behave as though he felt genuine contempt for Arthur. Merlin’s usually smiling mouth would tighten into a thin resentful line and he would snap at Arthur with bitterness and impatience. His whole demeanor would change and he would become surly and snide - almost nasty. He seethed with passive aggression as though he had thrown all his disappointed hopes and thwarted ambitions into Arthur’s lap and now thought he ought to be paid for it. Arthur responded with hurt and confusion and then- oddly- the same almost apologetic resignation. 

While Gawain could stand to be disappointed in Arthur- and there might even have been a small dark part of himself that felt a tiny bit of satisfaction to be disappointed in Arthur- Gawain did not want to feel the same for Merlin. Gawain was upset, so upset that as soon as he had witnessed a full cycle of Arthur and Merlin’s troubled interaction he had found himself two miles outside Camelot with a hastily packed knapsack thrown over one shoulder. Of course, he had calmed down and- rather sheepishly- returned home. 

After that Gawain told himself that he had been incorrect. He had not seen what he had thought he had seen. Arthur was naturally aloof and sometime he chose to play up that characteristic for reasons of his own. Merlin was naturally cheeky and sometimes he played that up as well. The truth was that Arthur cared deeply for Merlin and Merlin revered Arthur. Anything else Gawain had thought he had seen was just play, something the two men did to entertain themselves.

With the revelation of Merlin’s magic and Arthur’s reaction to it Gawain felt queasy with the weight of his ignored insight. He had thought- maybe hoped- that the two would just have a fight complete with yelling and hitting, crying and hugging but it had not turned out that way. It was too late for Gawain to just pack a bag and leave this time. Camelot had become his home and Merlin was his dearest friend. Gawain cared about Arthur, too, but there was something in Arthur’s personality- or perhaps it was in Gawain’s personality- that made admitting that difficult.

Then as the future looked bleakest, it was suddenly over. Arthur forgave Merlin and everything went back to normal, except not entirely. Things were better than normal. The dark thing between them was gone like a shadow banished by the sun. It wasn’t just that Arthur and Merlin were different together- though they were, they were gentler but they were also different apart. Some frantic, desperate edge to Merlin had been smoothed down and he was steadier. Similarly, Arthur seemed a little warmer, a little more willing to let himself feel enthusiasm and then to share it. 

Gawain might have told himself to be cautious, that these changes were new, and there was no reason to expect them to continue. He didn’t though. Instead Gawain let himself be happy. He took no notice of their gloomy escort and he whistled to himself and chatted affably with Lamorak, who had turned out to be quite an amiable fellow and Elyan who were both riding near him and likewise cheerfully disposed. Gawain was certain good things were in store and he was determined to appreciate them.

Ahead, Merlin was unaware of his friend’s rapturous contemplations. His attention was focused on Gwen and Bedivere as they struggled gallantly to engage Sir Kenneth in conversation. The man was polite but he had no interest in small talk. He was far more eager to get some sense of why the King and Queen of Camelot were troubling themselves to visit Dobhardhroim only days after the kingdom had crowned a new sovereign. 

Sir Kenneth exuded anxiety and Merlin caught him eyeing up their numbers and directing suspicious glances toward the cart they had brought along for their supplies. Arthur did not intend to hide his motives and intentions but protocol demanded that business should be addressed to Roderick first. So, Bedivere deflected the hints and carefully worded questions that were aimed at Arthur, Arthur mostly kept quiet and Gwen tried to keep it all from becoming awkward. Merlin congratulated himself upon not having to be a part of that particular dance.

As the procession made its way the last few miles to Dobhardhroim, Merlin noticed that the air was different. It smelled of salt and it felt thick as he breathed deeply. Merlin had seen the sea before at Gedref and he tried not to let the unease he had felt there creep into his mood now.

Merlin’s first view of Dobhardhroim did not particularly impress him. Compared to Camelot, it looked small and drab. Riding through the streets Merlin was struck by the lack of people. He saw some faces at windows and a woman with a small child clutching her skirt stood in a doorway but there was nothing like the crowd and commotion of Camelot. 

A small group of men and women waited at the top of the castle’s steps. Roderick, at least Merlin assumed it was Roderick- he was the only one, besides one of the women wearing a crown- stood at the center of the group. It was fortunate that Roderick had the crown because there was little else to distinguish him. He was average height with an average build and his hairline was receding a little. When he came down the steps to shake hands with Arthur, Merlin felt a little sorry for him. It was impossible not to make comparisons and none of them favored Roderick.

Then Guinevere and Roderick’s Queen, Rowena, were shaking hands and the onlookers were treated to another comparison. To Merlin’s eye Rowena, who was very pretty with pale skin and small bones, looked fragile and almost sickly next to Gwen, whose beauty was as warm and alive as the earth in spring. Greetings and introductions continued and Merlin had thoroughly resigned himself to being bored until they had finally got through all of the Sir What’s His Names and Lady What Do You Call Hers.

“This is Fallon, she is our enchantress and also our physician.” Roderick was indicating a tall red-headed woman who looked to be in her thirties. Merlin’s ears pricked and his eyes widened in sudden curiosity. At the mention of her name Fallon bobbed a quick curtsy but did not smile. 

Arthur acknowledged Fallon with a nod and said, “Camelot does not have a Court Sorcerer at the moment but we are advised on magical matters by Merlin, here.” Merlin bowed awkwardly and tried to decide if he was pleased to have been suddenly introduced as a magical advisor. Fallon looked him up and down and then back up again. Her gaze was cool, assessing.

“News has reached us that Camelot no longer prohibits magic,” The sorceress said to Arthur after she had finished inspecting Merlin. “But, I was uncertain whether or not to believe it.”

“Change always comes too slowly for some and too quickly for others.” Arthur answered mildly and the introductions continued.

After what felt to Merlin like an unnecessarily long time, the people of Camelot were shown to the rooms that had been prepared for them. Arthur and Guinevere had been given separate but adjoining rooms- royals tried not to make assumptions about the habits of other royals. 

Pausing only to remove his armor and change out of his traveling clothes Arthur darted off to check on the billeting of his men, Cabal scurried importantly behind him. In a little while, Sir Kenneth would be by to give Arthur a tour of the castle and then Arthur and Roderick would have a meeting before dinner. 

Alone in Arthur’s small but clean and richly furnished room, Merlin started to unpack.  
As he moved about going from bed to cupboard to table to hearth Merlin made certain to touch every object, looking for any trace of magic. He had no reason to expect anything unpleasant but Merlin had learned the importance of caution. 

Finding nothing untoward, Merlin gathered Arthur’s travel clothes and set off in search of the laundry. He could have easily done the chore with magic but then he would miss the chance of meeting the castle servants, bonding with them over work and then getting the opportunity to have them show him about the inner workings of the castle. Though he had the mud of two kingdoms to scrub off Arthur’s boots Merlin suspected that between the two of them Merlin was the one who was going to have the more pleasant afternoon.

Merlin had deliberating waited about half an hour before sneaking into the great hall for dinner. He had wanted to skip all the speeches and the toasting and arrive just as the food was set out. He had timed it nearly perfectly. Large platters of fish were just starting to be taken around the room when Merlin slipped into a place next to Gawain at one of the lower tables.

Gawain greeted him enthusiastically and immediately launched into a recitation of all the intelligence he had thus far managed to acquire concerning the local ales. Merlin listened indulgently as he glanced up to the high table. Arthur had his Court face on. His impenetrable attitude of dignified attention shone over Roderick and the others seated around him. Though, Merlin could not cite any external clue he could not help but sense that Arthur was getting frustrated. Merlin frowned sympathetically. From what Merlin had observed thus far, Dobhardhroim was still very much Vortigen’s kingdom. It wasn’t that the people didn’t like Roderick, it was more that they didn’t feel they had a very strong impression of him and Vortigen- whatever his faults- had been a powerful personality.

“May I join you?” Startled Merlin looked around and saw the sorceress Fallon standing beside him.

“Of course, my Lady.” Gawain reacted much faster than Merlin could. The knight elbowed the man on his other side until he could move over and make room for Fallon. Behind her shoulder Gawain winked dramatically at Merlin and then turned to engage the person across from him in a loud conversation. Merlin suppressed the urge to sigh.

“My Lady.” Merlin greeted as Fallon sat, somewhat primly, in the space left for her.

“I’m not a lady.” Fallon corrected frowning. Merlin apologized- now that he thought of it, she had been introduced as Fallon without any title preceding her name. In Camelot, though, most women could be addressed as ‘lady’ and it was taken as respectful rather than cheeky. Fallon accepted the apology with a careful nod.

“Why have you come here?” The question was abrupt and Merlin had the impression they were starting out on the wrong foot.

“Well, Arthur’s here and where he goes I go. Apparently, it’s a master servant thing.” Merlin grinned, trying to steer Fallon by the sheer brilliance of his smile into lightening up a little.

“Why is Arthur here? And what reason do you have to serve the King of Camelot?” There was enough accusation in Fallon’s words to put Merlin’s back up.

“Well, Arthur’s here because of your trouble with the Saxons.” Merlin explained with exaggerated reasonableness. “And as to your second question- it’s none of your business. But if you asked just so you could go on about Uther and the Purge and the proscription of magic, then you can save your breath. Magic isn’t outlawed anymore.”

Fallon’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, she shook her head, her red hair swinging gently around her face, as though she were now deliberately choosing a different approach.

“I asked because- because I need to know. Is your Arthur an honorable man? Does he really mean to help us? Do you- do you believe he can be trusted?” Fallon’s shoulders slumped a little and Merlin saw the weight of her worry pressing her down.

“Yes.” Merlin promised, easily forgiving Fallon’s initial confrontational tone. “He will fight for the people here. He is a great warrior but it won’t just be him and the knights of Camelot. He is going to bring all of Albion to fight the Saxons with you.”

Fallon made a small noise and for a moment, Merlin was terrified that she might start to cry. She didn’t though, instead she smiled at Merlin and it was the first genuine smile he had seen from her.

“So this has been about the Saxons?” Merlin asked. “Uther didn’t kill anyone you loved. You’re not afraid Arthur wants to start a second Purge. You just wanted to see if Arthur was sincere about wanting to fight the Saxons?” It was a new and welcome experience to be accosted by a sorceress who wasn’t holding a grudge.

“Yeah, mostly.” Fallon admitted. “I’m not- The purge was terrible but sometime . . .” Fallon trailed off.

“Sometimes what?” 

“Sometimes,” Fallon met Merlin’s eyes as though daring him to contradict her. “Sometimes, I understand it. I mean, it was wrong. All those poor people-” Fallon shook her head and broke eye contact with Merlin. “But when I think of what magic can do; when I think of some of the things I can do-. The Saxons have sorcerers among them, did you know that?”

Merlin shook his head. He had not known it, but he was not surprised.

“I’ve been to some of the villages in the aftermath of a raid. I look at what’s been done and I think that if this is what it means to have magic in the world then it’s not worth it. Whatever else come with magic it’s not worth it.”

Merlin had no answer for her. Or rather, he did have an answer but it was too long to tell her now and in this moment it wouldn’t help. The answer was his destiny and it might take the rest of his life. So, he just took Fallon’s hand and held it. Thanks to Gawain’s efforts, the two had as much privacy as it was possible to have at a table filled with people becoming increasingly happy with food and wine. After a while Merlin and Fallon started to talk again.  
*  
“So, what did you think of Roderick?” Merlin asked several hours later as he waved his hand over a full tub of water causing it to steam.

From behind the changing screen Arthur sighed, “he’s in over his head and he knows it. His trouble is that everyone else knows it too, and that’s hard on his pride.”

Merlin averted his eyes until Arthur was in the water and then set about putting sundry items within his master’s easy reach. As he did so, his glance caught Cabal. She whined and Merlin smiled. ‘I don’t understand it either, but apparently he enjoys it.’ Merlin thought at the dog. Cabal walked in a circle before collapsing on her side on a blanket that had been put down for her. She did not approve of Arthur’s bath. She was afraid the idea might gain popularity.

“Give him some time. He’s new to everything and bound to be feeling a bit vulnerable.” Merlin advised. “He doesn’t want his people to think you’re telling him what to do.”

“Hm.” Arthur agreed sinking deep into the hot water, closing his eyes as the blissful warmth enveloped him. Long hot baths were one of the things that could reliably make Arthur feel happy and relaxed. That wasn’t the sort of thing he could go around telling people, though. Arthur supposed that aside from saving his life on multiple occasions magic had done him a fair good turn in the form of abundant hot water over the years. It was strange how sometimes the little things could feel more important than the big things. 

“No, I’m the big bully come to strong arm him into something dangerous.” Arthur said sitting up straight again. “Roderick doesn’t trust me.”

“You’ll bring him around. I mean the Saxons probably are worse- all things considered.”

“I think it will be Guinevere who convinces him.” Arthur said ignoring the pleasantry. “They have a rapport. It hasn’t even been a day but he likes her, he trusts her.”

“Well, she is much nicer than you are, Sire.” Merlin put in. Arthur flicked bath water at him, splattering a few drops on Merlin’s face and neckerchief.

“Just proving your point.” Arthur answered Merlin’s indignant expression. “Gwen never would have done that.” Merlin turned away quickly to hide his smile.

“You aren’t going to need me tomorrow morning, are you?” Merlin asked after a few minutes of silence. He had settled himself cross-legged in one of the room’s large heavily cushioned chairs, and he was idly skimming over the papers on the table.

“Why? Do you have plans?” Arthur asked.

“Fallon- you know, Roderick’s sorceress and physician, has offered to show me around a bit. We might do some magic together or something.” Merlin sounded nonchalant but he was regarding Arthur closely from the corner of his eye.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Arthur answered not bothering to open his eyes. “After all, you don’t often have a chance to meet people like her.”

“You mean friendly magic-users?” Merlin asked.

“I mean professionally employed magic-users.” Arthur clarified. “Thanks.” This last was said because Merlin had waved his hand and reheated the cooling water.

“Sure.” Merlin replied softly. It was a background fact of existence, almost boring in its self-evidence that Arthur was beautiful. Merlin rarely thought about it anymore than he thought about fire being hot or grass being green. There came sudden and unpredictable times, though, when this simple ordinary fact struck Merlin with arresting force. This was such a time. It happened as Merlin got up from his chair meaning to start turning down the bed when his eye caught on Arthur.

Arthur still had his eyes closed so Merlin took the opportunity to just look. Arthur’s skin seemed to glow in the firelight. He was smiling just a little, just enough to curve his full lips into an expression of contentment. Arthur looked so warm, so safe- while Merlin suddenly felt cold and fragile. 

It hurt Merlin to look at Arthur at times like this. It filled him with a soft sad ache but he could not tear his eyes away. The hurt was irresistible- like a sore tooth he couldn’t let it be. He had to probe the pain, press at it until he hurt so much he was almost dizzy. Only then, would he be able to stop for a moment and let the sudden relief overwhelm him. After that he was able to let the ache be for a while.

Blinking suddenly, Merlin turned away and went back to his chores.  
*  
The sound of their horses’ shoes striking the gravel and rock-strewn path competed with Sir Kenneth’s running commentary on their surroundings. Sir Kenneth was much more talkative today than he had been yesterday. This was a good thing in Sir Bedivere’s opinion, or this tour would have ended up being dreadfully dull. As it was, Kenneth was full of stories about the history and geography of Dobhardhroim and Bedivere found himself entirely diverted.

King Arthur, Sir Bedivere and Sir Lionel had departed Roderick’s castle a little before dawn accompanied by their escort of yesterday, Sir Kenneth, Sir Brolin and Sir Loughran to tour the coast and visit one of the villages that had been raided recently. Bedivere was well-pleased to have the opportunity and not just to explore the coast and gather some firsthand accounts of the Saxons and their tactics. Though this was exciting, he was more glad for the opportunity for him and Arthur to be away from Roderick for a little while. When Kenneth had made the suggestion Arthur and Bedivere had both jumped at the chance. 

It had been clear from the beginning that Arthur and Roderick did not like each other. Roderick was sullen and defensive when speaking to Arthur and though Arthur tried to be patient it was evident that he wasn’t very impressed with Roderick which only made Roderick more sullen and defensive. This was not unusual in the world of politics and there was no reason why personal dislike should jeopardize a mutually beneficial alliance. Bedivere- with his diplomatic experience- had been fully prepared to act as a buffer between the monarchs but Roderick had taken a stronger dislike to Bedivere than he had to Arthur.

Fortune had smiled on Camelot however because King Roderick was thoroughly enamored of Queen Guinevere. Under her gentle smile he had opened up like a morning glory under the sun. Sir Leon, also, had become an instant favorite with Roderick. In retrospect, Bedivere believed his mistake had been too much enthusiasm. He ought to have been more sedate, more circumspect with Roderick instead of letting his emotions manifest themselves so strongly.

Still, Bedivere considered it was all one if Guinevere could gain Roderick’s trust and convince him of the wisdom of a clean break with the Saxons. Bedivere was hardly even jealous of Leon and the Queen’s immediate success. When it came to sorting the details Bedivere did not doubt that his skills would be called upon, so he was content that Guinevere should start them on the path.

Guinevere was a very intelligent woman. Leon had said- and circumstances had borne out- that Camelot’s new Queen had a good head on her shoulders as well as a kind heart. Bedivere wanted to like his Queen. After all, she had gone from a servant to Camelot’s sovereign lady without making any true enemies- unless you counted the witch- and accumulating more than a few friends. Kay included. And who would have predicted that? 

Yet, Bedivere remained hesitant. That business with the knight upset him. Bedivere did not know the details- and he was frankly happy not to know the details. Bedivere was not a man who was eager to stand in moral judgment of others’ romantic drives. Bedivere had discovered long ago that while he himself was never moved by fierce physical attraction he was in the minority. He did not like to condemn people for giving in to a temptation to which he himself seemed to be immune. So Bedivere did his best not to worry about the little escapade. Let it be forgotten. If Arthur had moved beyond Guinevere’s indiscretion then it was certainly not Bedivere’s place to dwell on it. And yet, somehow, that business with the knight still upset him.

“The ground gets steeper here.” Kenneth announced breaking Bedivere from his thoughts. “We should walk the horses for a while.”

When Arthur nodded Bedivere and Lionel dismounted and fell into line behind Arthur and Kenneth. Brolin and Loughran were in the rear.

The ground was steep and rocky and Bedivere patted his horse, Ox, soothing him. They had been traveling for more than two hours but they had not covered much distance. They had taken detours and paused so Kenneth could recite facts about this bit of empty field or that bit of sunny meadow. Bedivere could tell Arthur was getting bored and for that reason he hoped they would get to the village soon. For himself, Bedivere liked facts about fields and meadows. 

“Is there good building rock here in Dobhardhroim?” Arthur asked because that was at least useful information and there did seem to be a lot of rock.

“The Romans thought so.” Kenneth replied. “But the quarries have been abandoned nearly since their time.” After a few dozen yards, Kenneth paused and took Arthur’s arm.

“There.” He said pointing to where a large stone jutted up from the hillside a little ways below them. “I’ll show you if you like.”

Arthur nodded and patted Hengroen’s neck reassuringly. Then, he released her bridle to follow where Kenneth was making his way to the stone. Curious, Bedivere left Ox to follow them. When they arrived at the outcropping Kenneth placed his hand on the stone. 

“Most of Dobhardhroim castle is made from this. It’s harder than-“

“Ambush!” 

The cry came from Lionel who had remained with the horses. Bedivere and Arthur turned as one to see men dressed in fur and leather rushing toward them from the slope above the path. There were eight- no, nine of them. They carried round shields as well as axes and clubs. They had to be Saxons, Bedivere realized as he reached for the sword at his hip. He swore as he remembered that his sword was tied to his horse’s saddle. Excalibur was already in Arthur’s hand, though, as he had taken it with him as a matter of habit. So, that was something, Bedivere told himself.

“Lionel!” Arthur cried as he started to run- half-stumbling on the sliding pebbles- back up the escarpment to the horses. But the Saxons were already there. Lionel drew his sword but it was a mere moment before he was overrun. Arthur yelled again as he saw his knight cut down. The horses panicked. They reared and then took off at a run, shrieking as the pebbles shifted beneath their hooves.

“Damn it.” Bedivere murmured as he drew a knife from his belt and positioned himself back-to-back with Arthur. Arthur had abandoned the attempt to go up the slope when he saw that Lionel was dead. 

The Saxons had not paused long at the path before continuing down toward Arthur, Bedivere and Kenneth. Arthur called to Kenneth and to Kenneth’s men- who were still on the path having managed to avoid the first Saxon onslaught that had killed Lionel. They needed to find something close to firm ground then form up in a circle to protect each other from being struck from behind. They were outnumbered but there was still a chance if they kept together.

“Kenneth!” Arthur yelled again as he stabbed into the gut of the first Saxon to reach him. Bedivere darted to the dying man to pick up his axe before standing back to back with Arthur again. Kenneth had moved away a little and he was an easy target. Or, at least he should have been.

“Kenneth!” Arthur was clearly frustrated with the man.

“They’re working together.” Bedivere snarled. He had happened to be looking in the direction of Brolin and Loughran who were still on the path. He saw Brolin reach for his sword but Loughran caught his arm and shook his head. 

In a gesture borne more of anger than strategy, Arthur lunged toward Kenneth who was still carefully retreating. Kenneth shrank away but Excalibur sliced deeply across his arm. Arthur could not follow up the attack, though, without leaving Bedivere vulnerable, so he reset his stance and looked for the next man to come at him.

It was soon obvious to Bedivere that the Saxons meant to capture Arthur alive. The knight took courage from this fact. It gave them an advantage which Arthur happily pursued, easily deflecting what was meant to be a stunning blow and answering it with killing force. The Saxons did not seem to care about keeping Bedivere alive which meant tough slogging for the knight but he’d be damned if he couldn’t hold his own against a bunch of barbarians.

“Brolin! Loughran!” Arthur called, sparing a quick glance at the path where Kenneth’s men stood nervously holding onto their horses. “You need to choose, if you haven’t already. Do you really want to be on their side?” Arthur finished the question by throwing a mail clad elbow hard into the face of one of the Saxons that had tried to circle in on his left.

In the little attention Bedivere had to spare, he saw that Brolin had pushed away from Loughran and was making his way toward Camelot’s knights. He slashed his way through the attackers until he could stand next to Arthur and Bedivere.

“Good man!” Bedivere praised. It could very well cost Brolin his life but it was well done.

“Only five left- if Kenneth and Loughran stay out of it.” Brolin panted. Bedivere looked around quickly to see that he was right. Four Saxons had been killed or injured too badly to continue fighting. If they managed to take down one or two more then the others might decide to run. Or start fighting Arthur with the intent to kill, Bedivere reassessed pessimistically.

The first indication that a new force had entered the combat was when Bedivere and Brolin each felt the haft of his axe and the hilt of his sword heat quickly to unbearable temperatures. Brolin dropped his weapon, hissing in pain. In the next moment a Saxon had buried an axe in the Dobhardhroim’s knight’s neck and shoulder. Bedivere had no choice but to drop his own weapon as his palms burned but he did not pause to think of his blistering hands. He kicked the knee of the Saxon that was raising his club against him and the man crumpled.

There was still the sound of metal crashing against metal, so, Bedivere realized Arthur must still have Excalibur. The memory of what Gawain had said when they first started this journey: ‘our sorcerers have got to be better than theirs’, rang through Bedivere’s head. He laughed- at least Excalibur seemed to be of stronger magic.

Arthur and Bedivere turned a little, still keeping their backs to each other so that each could get a larger sense of their surrounds. Bedivere was first to spot the black cloaked man standing next to Kenneth away from the action. Just as that man’s eyes flashed gold, Bedivere drew his knife from his belt and threw it as hard as he could. The knife hit the man squarely in the chest, but it struck hilt first. Even so, the sorcerer staggered back. Bedivere grinned wolfishly but his distraction had allowed one of his assailants to land a hard blow across his ribs. He doubled over staggering. His foot bent beneath him further than it was meant to go and he dropped to his knees.

“Bedviere!” Arthur was calling to him. Bedivere heard the panic and fear in his voice and he tried to get up and tell Arthur that he was all right, that he shouldn’t worry about him. A club crashed against the back of his skull and Bedivere dropped like a stone to the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

Jerking awake, Arthur flailed a few moments before he realized that his wrists and ankles were manacled to an iron ring that had been bolted into the stone floor. There was a small fire a few feet in front of him and it cast an eerily bright light. There seemed to be no transition between the area illuminated by the fire and the pitch black of the rest of the cave. 

Arthur assessed his predicament as logically as he was able. The Saxons must have taken his boots to fit his ankles into the manacles. Of course, Excalibur was gone but so were his chainmail, his ring and even his gambeson and shirt. For several minutes Arthur put all his energy into trying to escape the chains that bound him with no success. The chain was short and he could move very little. Arthur could not see or hear anyone but he did not call out into the surrounding darkness.

His situation- as these things went- was not good, but Arthur knew very well that it could certainly be worse. That thought suddenly made him angry. His life had been spared while Bedivere, Lionel and Brolin were dead. There was no fairness in it and Arthur felt the shame that came from succeeding at a game that had been rigged for his benefit. 

Arthur had known almost nothing about Sir Brolin- except that he had thrown in his lot with strangers rather than allow his leader to betray those strangers to his country’s enemies. That had taken more than a little courage and integrity- but now he was gone and all that courage and integrity was gone with him.

The death of Sir Lionel was another grief. Arthur had not known him especially well, but he had been young and eager to please. He had been a bit on the sensitive side, too. Though there was nothing wrong with that, Arthur reminded himself. You needed sensitive people if you wanted to build a civilization, Bedivere would have said. . . . Bedivere. Bedivere’s death felt like the end of so many things, so many things Arthur thought he would have forever. Drawing himself up as far as the chains would allow, Arthur resolved that he would not think about Bedivere now- not where his enemies would be able guess at the harm they had done the world.

Time passed in the light of the too-bright fire and Arthur was growing bored. He told himself that that was better than just about any alternative he could think of but he still found himself pulling listlessly at his chains even though he had already stripped the skin off his wrists and ankles. Sitting still was too difficult. 

After Bedivere had fallen, Arthur had fought madly, spurred by grief and desperation. The Saxon sorcerer, though, enchanted roots and vines to bind his limbs. Excalibur cut through them easily but that distraction allowed the other Saxons to close in and wrest Excalibur from his grip. It had not taken long then before his wrists were caught and tied behind his back. Any further struggle would have been counterproductive but Arthur could only barely manage to restrain himself from kicking out and struggling until he reached complete exhaustion.

With Arthur securely captured, Kenneth and a man- presumably the Saxon leader- clasped forearms. They exchanged words which were incomprehensible to Arthur. Then, Kenneth and Loughran took their horses and began traveling north. The Saxons took their captive south and nine dead men were left bleeding into the rocky ground.

For a little more than an hour, Arthur was steered along a series of paths that led closer to the Cliffs by the sea. It was slow going. Arthur dragged his feet and one of the Saxons was injured. The Saxon leader pushed and shoved them on, yelling what were probably insults and commands to hurry. The fact that, as far as Arthur could tell, none of his captors spoke British or Latin probably meant that they did not want information from him. Arthur was well-pleased at that. It seemed most likely that the Saxons would want a ransom. Arthur’s certainty that they weren’t going to get one was comforting.

Eventually they came to the cave. Arthur was dismayed to find that there were more Saxons waiting for them- perhaps a half dozen more, although it was difficult to tell. The fire had not been so bright then. There were also at least four new sorcerers if dark robes were any way to judge. Arthur wondered idly what magic had against trousers. He decided that he would ask Merlin later and the thought made him smile. 

One of the dark robed men with bright red hair and a braided beard came up to Arthur. He looked at him closely before smiling wolfishly. In a heavy accent the dark robed figure said: “Arthur Pendragon”. Then he laid one finger to Arthur’s forehead and his eyes burned gold. The next thing Arthur knew he had woken up in chains.

To distract himself from the chill and boredom of the cave, Arthur tried to imagine what his people were up to. Gwen no doubt had Roderick eating out of her hand. Leon would be there with her, lending his stoic support. Arthur wondered how Merlin was getting on with Talon- No, that couldn’t be right. Falcon, maybe? The man would inevitably behave ridiculously but still end up with the Dobhardhroim sorceress wrapped around his finger. It both pleased and annoyed Arthur that friendliness came so easily to Merlin. 

Then there were the knights and guardsmen. It was their responsibility to show in their actions and behavior that Camelot would be a worthy ally. All of his men could do this but it was really Gawain, Elyan and Percival who were best able to communicate what Camelot was all about just by their presence. Now that he thought of it, Gwen had told him yesterday that Edwina had volunteered to spend time being companionable with Queen Rowena- so everyone had a useful task. From a certain perspective things weren’t as dire as all that.

The sound of footsteps broke Arthur from his musings. He tensed and- as far as the chains permitted- took up a defensive crouch. The fire seemed to have brightened still further. Arthur could see about seven or eight feet in any direction with perfect clarity but the world beyond the light’s edge may as well not have existed for all that could be seen of it. The footsteps paused briefly just beyond the perimeter of light. Arthur breathed calmly, looking for the quiet center. Then, a figure came into the light.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed happily.

“Arthur!” Merlin responded. He was grinning as he came further into the light.

“Are the knights with you?”

“No, just me.” Merlin answered, still beaming.

“What about the Saxons?” Arthur’s brow furrowed momentarily, Merlin should not have had to come here alone.

“They’re all dead.” Merlin came to a stop a few feet away from where Arthur crouched in his chains.

“Here, help me.” Arthur indicated the manacles. He wasn’t at all sorry the Saxons were dead, and he knew Merlin was capable of killing. He was just- well, surprised wasn’t the right word but it would have to do.

Still wearing his big grin Merlin raised his hand, his eyes flashed and Arthur cried out in sudden agony. It lasted only a few seconds but Arthur felt every muscle in his body spasm as what felt like bolts of lightning seared through him.

When it was over, Arthur lay on the ground panting heavily. “Wrong spell,” he said when he had breath. He kept his tone light and he gave Merlin a rueful smile. It had hurt like hell but he thought Merlin would feel bad enough as it was.

“No. It really wasn’t.” Merlin was still smiling as the next wave of power struck Arthur. This one lasted nearly a minute. When Merlin stopped Arthur continued to shiver uncontrollably.

“What are you doing?” Arthur croaked, his voice sounded strange in his own ears.

“It’s obvious what I’m doing.” Merlin’s tone was casual, bantering.

“Why are you doing it?” Arthur struggled to find a less uncomfortable position but his muscles felt like water.

“That should be obvious as well.” Merlin sat on the ground, crossing his legs. “You always have to ask, though. No matter how many times we do this, the first few minutes are always ‘why Merlin?’, ‘I don’t understand, Merlin?’ and ‘how could you do this, Merlin?’”

“Can you really be just as pig ignorant as you appear?” Merlin poked Arthur in the chest. Arthur tried to flinch away but there was nowhere for him to go, “Can nothing- nothing at all- stick inside your preposterously thick skull? Is it really just prat all the way down?”

“Do you know,” Merlin continued thoughtfully after studying Arthur a moment. “I don’t really believe it. You can’t possibly be as stupid as all that. Oh, don’t misunderstand; I’m sure the stupid is miles deep but past that- in your heart of hearts- you know.” 

“You’ve known nearly from the beginning, haven’t you, Arthur? You know what I am, you understand what I’m capable of doing. You know what I will inevitably do if you can’t find some way to rein me in. How’s that going by the way? What pretty little lie did you tell yourself so that you could feel safe in my presence?” When Arthur said nothing Merlin went on.

“It’s the same with your father. You’ve always known what kind of man Uther was. You’ve always understood that that bloodthirsty hypocrite loved his own pride better than his son, better than his kingdom, better even than the holy Saint Igraine.”

“You knew about Morgana, too. You’ve always known about her spite. She grudged you the scraps of Uther’s affection and it wasn’t because she wanted them for herself. No, she had all her father's love and it mean nothing to her. She just knew what it meant to you.” Merlin leaned forward, so that Arthur could see the gentle blue of his eyes. “You want to remember when she was innocent but all you can remember is how she used to laugh whenever you needed a word of encouragement, whenever you felt vulnerable or uncertain. She always loved to show off her wit at the expense of others, our Morgana. Her tongue was a dagger and her only regret was that that was only a metaphor.” 

“You’ve known about yourself, too. You know you’ve disappointed everyone who ever put faith in you. You know that you’re going to fail and Camelot will suffer because of you. And it won’t be because you didn’t try or because you didn’t care enough. You’re not greedy or cruel. No, you’re worse than that. You’re weak.” Merlin was speaking calmly- almost kindly, as if he sympathized with how Arthur must feel but truth was truth. 

“You know all that, Arthur, but you’re too much of a coward to face it.” Tremors still wracked Arthur’s body from the aftermath of Merlin’s magic but he put every ounce of strength he had into remaining still- to not shaking- as Merlin continued. “No, you tell yourself that your father had to be a hard man in order to protect Camelot and the people he cared about. He was sometimes wrong but he was well-intentioned and ultimately good. You tell yourself that Morgana was a clever high-spirited girl who had a sharp-tongue but a good heart. You tell yourself that she was deceived, led astray and then driven mad by wild magic. You tell yourself- well, you tell yourself that you’re doing your best, don’t you. And you tell yourself that I love you, that I care about you. You tell yourself that I’m a good man and therefore you and Camelot and the whole world are safe. You want to believe all that so much, don’t you Arthur. You nearly manage it. You can just about persuade yourself but, in the end, you know.”

“You’re not Merlin.” Arthur said flatly, mustering defiance, pride, stubbornness, anything that might see him through this.

“’I don’t want it to be true’ is not an argument, Sire.”

“No, Merlin wouldn’t do this.” Arthur insisted. “Merlin doesn’t believe- all of those things.”

“Ah, but you do.” Merlin countered smiling. “And I would do this.” Merlin gestured to the cave, to the chains. 

“I have done it- maybe a dozen times. I’m pretty sure I’ll do it again. Whenever it gets to be too much, whenever I feel my patience about to break, I make a little time, a little fold of time- just for us, just so that I can be honest for a little while before you forget and our little pantomime resumes.”

“You- you said you weren’t always lying- You told me . . . you told me about your magic.” Arthur was searching for something, some thread of fact or truth that he could hold on to even as everything unraveled around him. 

“It grew tiresome hiding my magic. The effort of covering it up when someone bumbled into it wasn’t worth it. It’s true you were sullen about it and I considered taking it back just to stop your moping but it would mean interfering in too many people’s memories and that can be dangerous. I mean, just look at you.”

“We got through it together, though, didn’t we.” Merlin continued. He had tilted his head to the side and he was gazing off into space as though lost in fond memories. “It didn’t take all that long for you to forgive me. It didn’t take any time at all for you to forgive me for the dragon. All that death and blood and fire, all those poor people,” Merlin snapped his fingers, “and you just let it go- like it was nothing.” Merlin shook his head incredulously.

“The dragon didn’t bother you but what stuck in your throat, what you spent more than a month choking on was your own utter irrelevance. Whether you’re enchanted or not doesn’t really matter because either way you’re helpless, useless. That must have been terrible for you. In a way, it’s amazing you got over it at all. Some men would have rather died than submit to such a fraudulent existence.” Merlin’s tone implied that that would have been the nobler option. 

“But you were always going to forgive me weren’t you, Arthur. You can’t help it. You might even forgive me for this,” Merlin gestured about himself. “I’d just have to say: ‘I’m so sorry, Arthur. I don’t know what I am doing. I’m just a well-meaning warlock as frightened and confused by the power within me as you are. Just give me another chance, Arthur, please. I love you. I need you just as much as you need me- more even. You’re the only one who can save me from myself.’ Does that just about do it? Or would you want to hear ‘I love you’ again?”

“Go to hell.” Arthur’s voice was thick and Merlin laughed. 

“You’re not Merlin.” Arthur repeated as belligerently as he could manage. “Merlin wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t say the things you’re saying. Merlin is a good man.” Arthur was aware that he was saying exactly the things that Merlin had already mocked him for but he clung stubbornly to the world as it had been before he had woken up in this mad place.

“Oh Arthur,” Merlin sounded sad now, compassionate. “How many times do I need to tell you: I’m magic and magic is neither good nor evil.” He raised his hand again and his eyes shone brighter than the fire. As the new wave of pain hit him something broke in Arthur’s heart.  
*  
Guinevere took Roderick’s pawn with her bishop. She put the piece aside and smiled at Roderick. The King of Dobhardhroim stroked his chin and considered the board. 

“It has been too long since I have faced such a serious opponent. I’m afraid my skills have waned with lack of practice.” Roderick pushed a pawn forward.

“I don’t get as many opportunities as I’d like either.” Gwen smiled. “Thank you for this chance to play.”

“Isn’t your husband willing to give you a game now and then?” Roderick asked. The movement on the board continued but much more slowly as the conversation began to take precedence.

“Arthur doesn’t like chess. He thinks-” Gwen broke off and then continued. “We find other things we like to do together.”

“What were you going to say?” Roderick asked amused. He felt so at ease with Guinevere. She was the first person in a long time to just sit and talk with him or sit and play chess. He knew, of course, that she wanted a Dobhardhroim Camelot alliance to work but she was willing to take time- she was willing to let a man have his own thoughts without pressing him all the time or taking his acquiescence for granted.

“Arthur thinks that chess is a waste of brain power that ought to be more usefully applied.” Gwen admitted.

“I take it he doesn’t play.” Roderick commented.

“He does know how to play.” 

“Camelot’s king prefers other games, then?” Roderick’s demeanor changed and he sounded cynical. Guinevere was lovely but she had come with people who, Roderick was certain, meant to take advantage of him.

“The welfare of Albion is not a game to Arthur.” Gwen said calmly, rejecting not only Roderick’s implication but also the sarcasm with which he made it. “There is nothing he takes more seriously than the safety and prosperity of Camelot and our allies.”

“Yet, he changes his father’s laws. Uther was a strong king and well-respected. His reign was built on the support of the wealthy nobles. The nobles are the backbone of every kingdom in Albion.” Roderick insisted though he had stopped being snide. “It seems frivolous and foolhardy to jeopardize that support by asking these same nobles to give up their privileged status. Why would anyone be willing to do that?”

It was not a question that leant itself to an easy answer. Arthur, Gwen and those who supported their new laws had been banging their heads against it from the beginning.

Gwen wasn’t sure she knew how to speak to Roderick about this. He was right, after all, it was a terribly risky proposition to try and take power away from those who already had it in the name of something as subjective as fairness. Roderick was entitled to question if his would-be allies possessed caution and good sense or if they were merely a bunch of starry-eyed idealist about to get a hard lesson in reality. 

For a long time a humiliating bargain with barbarians had been the only thing standing between Roderick’s people and brutal unremitting attack from those same invaders. Time was only making Dobhardhroim’s predicament worse. Roderick ought to be wary of people whose promises sounded too good to be true. 

“My Lady?” Leon said just as Gwen was composing herself to try and sound as hardheaded and practical as possible.

“Yes, Sir Leon.” Gwen was surprised to hear Leon speak. The tall knight had been standing at polite attention since the start of Gwen and Roderick’s discussion that morning. His presence had given her confidence. She had not expected more than moral support, though.

“May I answer his majesty’s question?” Leon asked.

Gwen nodded and just resisted the urge to add, ‘good luck’.

Leon turned to Roderick with as much dignity as he could muster which, in Leon’s case, turned out to be quite a bit. “Your Majesty asked why anyone would be willing to give up his historical privileges as a nobleman. The answer is that with these new laws, everyone- nobles included- gains more than he loses. Camelot is a better, stronger place because the law permits Guinevere to be Queen. Camelot is a better, stronger place because the law permits my friends, Percival, Elyan and Gawain to be knights. And, it is a better, stronger place because the law permits a healer to take advantage of whatever benefits magic may provide when he tends his patients. In exchange for these advantages I give up the idea that I am entitled to deal cruelly and unjustly with those who have less rank than I. That is not a loss I mourn.”

“And is this sentiment shared among your fellow nobles?” Roderick demanded skeptically, though he had been moved by Leon’s declaration. Gwen was blinking rapidly.

“Not everyone- never everyone, but we do try to make sure we always give back more than we take no matter who we are dealing with.” Leon replied.

“Are you, then, a believer in this famous equality that I have been told underpins all these new ideas in Camelot? Do you really believe that no person is more valuable than another?” Roderick asked, eyebrows raised.

It was only years of discipline that kept Leon from shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. He had been apprehensive about injecting himself into the conversation but he had seen Gwen- Queen Guinevere- struggle with Roderick’s question. Leon knew it was not a question Gwen- Queen Guinevere- would truly be able to answer because the new laws had not diminished her ancient privileges. She had only gained from them. Leon could speak from the perspective of those who had been asked to sacrifice something they had been led to believe since birth was theirs by the very will of God. With this new question, though, Leon was stymied.

Leon believed in equality. Of course, he did. He believed in it because what it really meant was something like ‘don’t take advantage of people who are weaker than you are.’ Equality meant courtesy because it was unchivalrous to harp on people’s shortcomings. He’d been told to believe in equality so he did; that was just the chain of command. Leon was very comfortable with the chain of command. 

The problem was that Roderick didn’t mean the kind of equality that meant ‘well, try to be polite even if you don’t like each other.’ He didn’t mean the equality that could be believed in on command. No, he meant ‘all people are worth the same’ kind of equality and when it came right down to it Leon didn’t believe that for a single second.

The idea was ludicrous on its face. Some people were better than others; some people were stronger, smarter, kinder, more talented, more attractive or more moral. There was no way around that. Leon didn’t even want a way around it. Leon was glad that there were better men than him in the world. Leon did not have any particular desire to go into the calculus of all the ways people could be judged and ranked. He didn’t have an opinion about whether a strong and kind person was better than a smart attractive person. He supposed that the answer would change based on circumstance. What Leon did have an opinion about was that they were not worth the same. They just weren’t. And yet Leon would never say anything that could be perceived as disloyal in front of a foreign king.

Gwen watched as Leon grew pale beneath Roderick’s questioning gaze. She was surprised. Leon had spoken so eloquently before but now he seemed genuinely lost. As Leon had rescued her now Gwen would rescue Leon. “You were correct, my lord, when you said equality underpins our laws. It is as a matter of law when we speak of equality.”

“Certainly, it would be ridiculous to trust an honest person and a liar equally. You would not ask for things from a poor man that you might ask for from a rich man. You would not employ a talented person on the same terms as an untalented person. The law, however, does not acknowledge these differences. The law offers the same protections and applies the same restrictions to everyone regardless of power or popularity or temperament and in that way everyone is equal.” As Gwen finished she watched Roderick closely to see if her words had made any impression. Roderick looked like he did not agree but could not- at the moment- articulate the reasons for his disagreement.

“I don’t think I entirely understand but your enthusiasm for these ideas speaks well of them, my Lady.” Roderick said gallantly.

“I fear I was not able to put the argument in its most persuasive form.” Gwen confessed, inclining her head to accept Roderick’s compliment.

“Not at all. But if you would excuse me now, I have some small matters of business that require my attention.” Roderick’s gaze flicked over to a page who had arrived several minutes ago and had spent the entire time considering the politest possible way to interrupt. “I hope very much we shall meet again soon.” 

“Yes, we need to finish our game.” Gwen responded indicating the chessboard.

Roderick studied the board for a moment before saying, “I think you have already won this one, but I would like the chance to play again. Perhaps this evening? After Arthur has returned from his tour?” Roderick got to his feet and Gwen followed his example.

“I would like that very much.” Gwen replied and the two exchanged a bow for a curtsy.

“So, how do you think it went?” Gwen asked Leon as they walked through the corridors of the castle toward the rooms Gwen had been assigned.

“It did not go the way most preliminary negotiations that I have seen.” Leon replied. There had been fewer manly, nearly violent slaps on the back for one thing.

“Oh.” Gwen was disappointed.

“I did not mean that to be discouraging.” Leon hastened to reassure. “I think it went very well.”

“I think so, too.” Gwen confided happily. “I don’t think Roderick will refuse to see sense, once he fully understands what we’re offering.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Leon replied dutifully. 

When they arrived at her rooms Leon checked to make sure the guardsmen assigned to Gwen’s door were alert and aware of who would take over from them and when. Leon, then, took leave of his Queen to see how the rest of the people of Camelot were getting along with their hosts. Gwen had offered to go with him but Leon had discouraged it. The men would expect to have Leon come round to check up on them and repeat the lecture about proper behavior but to have the Queen do so might make them feel as though she didn’t trust them. Gwen considered that there was still a great deal she did not understand about her new position.

Waiting insider her room, Gwen found Edwina curled in a chair with a book in her lap and Meg arranging a bowl of flowers. Gwen smiled at her maidservant. She really was very thoughtful. Edwina made as if to get up when the Queen came in but Gwen waved her back. The two greeted each other and in answer to her friend’s queries Edwina told Gwen all about her morning with Rowena. Apparently, Roderick’s Queen was starved for company and she had talked nearly non-stop. She might still be talking if Edwina had not begged for a brief respite. Gwen felt sorry for Rowena. She expected that there were a lot of noble women who were excluded from interesting work. 

Not really in the mood for reading or working on her embroidery, Gwen wandered over to her window to look outside. Arthur had said that he planned to be back around noon. It was a little after that now, so Gwen expected that she would see him coming up through the courtyard at any moment. Gwen was proud of her efforts with Roderick and she was eager for Arthur to be proud of her too.

Gwen hoped Arthur had not encountered anything too sad in the villages of Dobhardhroim. Even at the castle fear of the Saxons was as thick as smoke. There were probably a lot of terrible stories in the villages closer to the coast and Arthur would feel compelled to listen to them. Arthur would feel responsible somehow. Even though there was no way any of the problems of Dobhardhroims could be his fault. Even though he was already willing to do more for their future safety than anyone else had ever done. Arthur would still feel like he could have, should have done more, sooner. ‘Don’t worry, Arthur.” Gwen thought to her husband. ‘We’ll get to everyone. Eventually, we’ll get to everyone.”  
*  
The first thing Bedivere did when he returned to consciousness was to roll onto his side and throw up. For several minutes every shred of his attention was taken up with vomiting but as his stomach slowly calmed, he began to take in certain facts about his situation. The first and most important fact was that he was still alive. While theoretically he was very pleased about this development, practically his head hurt too much to really appreciate it.

Memories wandered into Bedivere’s head as he checked himself over for injuries. There had been a fight- no, an ambush. Kenneth was working with the Saxons. They had been trying to capture Arthur. Lionel was dead. One of the knights of Dobhardhroim had fought alongside them but he was dead too. Bedivere felt his nausea return but he didn’t think it was from the blow to his head this time. 

Aside from the knot on the back of his skull, Bedivere found that he had taken a fairly hard blow across his ribs and his left ankle could not support his weight. The ankle was going to be his biggest problem. He needed to get back to the Queen. He needed to get to Leon and Merlin and the others to tell them of Arthur’s danger and Kenneth’s treachery.

Grimly Bedivere crawled a little ways to the nearest Saxon corpse. Though, it was better than the alternative it was still horrifying to have woken up in what was very nearly a pile of bodies. The first Saxon had a slash across his belly. By the look of it, it had probably taken the man some time to die. Bedivere looked up at the sky and waited for the clouds to pass. He guessed it was a little after noon. He must have been unconscious for several hours at the least. A quick inspection of the body yielded nothing useful, so Bedivere crawled to the next one.

The next man had a canteen and Bedivere took it eagerly. To his dismay, he discovered that the canteen did not hold water but rather some sort of sour beer. After thinking about it a moment, Bedivere decided that the taste of the beer was barely preferable to the taste of vomit. He swished the liquid about in his mouth a bit before spitting it out. He left the canteen with the Saxon but he took the large axe that lay beside the man before moving on to the next of the fallen. The next man happened to be Sir Brolin.

Bedivere closed the man’s eyes and placed his hand on his forehead for a moment. It was cold. He wanted to say something but he could think of nothing and so he moved on. Bedivere checked the next four bodies. He was looking for water or perhaps he just wanted to assure himself that he was the only survivor. He found nothing that would be of any use to him.

Now there was only Sir Lionel left. Bedivere began to tremble with the release of tension he had not realized he had been holding. Arthur wasn’t here. Of course, he had been nearly certain of that. Everything about the ambush indicated that the plan was for the Saxons to capture Arthur alive but Bedivere was relieved anyway.

When Bedivere came to Sir Lionel, the young man’s sword lay unbloodied in his hand. Bedivere suddenly remembered that his own sword was still with Ox. Belatedly Bedivere thought of their horses. They could be anywhere by now. Bedivere only hoped that they had not injured themselves in their frantic escape. Taking Lionel’s weapon Bedivere stuck it through his own belt. He promised Lionel that he would take care of the blade as he did so. 

Maneuvering carefully Bedivere managed to free Lionel’s red cloak with the dragon insignia from where it had twisted underneath him. He closed the young knight’s eyes and draped the cloak over his face and chest. 

As soon as he reached Dobhardhroim he would see that someone came back to tend to these men. He could do no more for them now. Whispering an apology to Lionel, Bedivere dragged himself and the Saxon axe to one of the thin almost spindly trees that had managed to climb its way out of the rocky soil and began to make himself a crutch.  
*  
The inner corridors of Dobhardhroim castle were narrower than those of Camelot. The ceiling was lower as well. A man of Leon’s height could easily begin to feel closed in. Leon, though, was currently oblivious to the state of the architecture around him as he strode purposefully through the halls. He told himself he was not in a hurry; that there was no need for urgency and yet his pace gradually increased as he made his way through the tunnel like passages until he was all but jogging.

When Leon arrived at his destination, he paused. He wondered, suddenly, if he really needed to be here. The Queen had given Leon a task, but he didn’t need to come here to accomplish that task. Coming here would probably only complicate and delay his task and Leon was not one to delay when he was about the Queen’s business. He should just go back out to the courtyard where Gawain, Percival and Elyan would already be gathered. If he did that, though, Leon had sense enough to know he might be very sorry later. This galled him but there was no escaping it.

As Leon contemplated his options, he heard voices on the other side of the door. He could not make out words but the tone of the conversation sounded affable. Then, there was laughter. Leon almost walked away at that. He went so far as to turn around but he did not leave. With a soft curse, he turned back to the door, knocked firmly then went inside.

At the sound of the knock, Merlin looked up from the slate where he and Fallon had been drawing figures in chalk, to see Leon come into the small room Fallon used to practice both the magical and healing arts. 

“May I help you?” Fallon who had just been laughing at the combination of symbols Merlin had tried- and failed- to put together now spoke in a firm even tone.

“Forgive me for intruding.” Leon bowed to Fallon but he was looking at Merlin. Merlin wondered if he was in trouble and if so if he had done anything to deserve it. “May I speak to Merlin a moment?”

“Of course.” Fallon still sounded cool especially when Merlin compared her attitude now to how warm she had been in the last few hours. Or no, he’d been here longer than that hadn’t he. There were no windows in Fallon’s rooms and it was possible that Merlin might have lost track of the time.

“Right, I’ll see you later, then? Thank you for showing me these.” Merlin said to Fallon indicating the symbols on the slate. “Maybe I can show you something later, something different- different magic. I mean, a different way of doing magic.” Merlin faltered. Fallon had been very generous with her knowledge and Merlin wanted to be able to offer something in return but while his magic was stronger than hers by orders of scale Merlin didn’t know if he had anything that he could teach her. 

Then he realized that he wasn’t entirely pleased with the way the last few sentences had come out and it might be a good idea to try to clarify, “You obviously have more experience than I do, so I’m not sure if I have anything that I can teach you but I’d still like to try.” It took Merlin exactly no time to realize that he was even less pleased with this sentence. He wondered fleetingly if it was possible that any of the magic they had tried might have accidentally turned him into Gwen.

“I look forward to it.” Fallon answered and she was smiling again. Merlin smiled with her then loped over to Leon who was wearing an expression of patience tried to its limit. 

It occurred to Merlin that, yes, he probably had spent longer with Fallon than he had intended. It was too much to expect that Arthur could go so long without having some little chore or other that he wanted Merlin to do. Merlin found that he was not at all displeased at this thought.

“I apologize for taking you away from Lady Fallon.” Leon said civilly as the pair walked side by side through the cramped hallways.

“Oh, she’s not a lady.” Merlin explained. Leon looked scandalized which confused Merlin for a moment before he sighed in exasperation. “So what can’t Arthur do without now?” He asked deciding that, given his recent history, trying to explain would only make things worse.

“Arthur’s not back yet. Gw- Queen Guinevere sent me.” Leon answered.

“Not back from where?” Merlin was amused by Leon’s apparent need to correct himself. The Queen certainly wouldn’t mind if Leon called her Gwen outside of formal situations. 

“From the visit to the coast he went on this morning with Bedivere and Lionel. Kenneth and some of his men offered to take them around.”

“Arthur didn’t tell me he was planning on leaving the castle today.” Merlin said surprised.

“Arthur doesn’t need your permission.” Leon said sharply and Merlin recoiled a step from the harshness of his tone.

“I just meant that I probably should have gone with him. I usually go with him on that sort of trip.” Merlin wished Leon wouldn’t be so prickly. Leon had been a friend and his suspicion grieved Merlin. “So, when is he meant to be back?”

“About noon.”

Merlin was about to ask what Gwen wanted him for when a splinter of worry pierced him. “What time is it now?”

“Late afternoon.” Leon answered and then hurriedly went on to explain the result of the discussion that he and Gwen- Queen Guinevere- had had earlier. “No one is worried. It’s natural that these things will always take longer than predicted. Roderick promises that no one knows the terrain of where they were headed better than Sir Kenneth. And, of course, Bedivere knows to be cautious. Arthur knows to be cautious too. They’ll be back any time.”

“So, what are we doing, then?” Merlin’s tone suggested that he wasn’t buying this ‘No one is worried’ business.

“The Queen suggested- and I agreed- that it might be just as well for us- you, me, Gawain, Elyan and Percival- to go out to meet them along the way back.” Leon said stiffly.

“Yeah, just as well.” Merlin might have said more but they had come to the courtyard where Gawain, Percival and Elyan were already gathered. The men had saddled their horses and Percival held mounts for Leon and Merlin. Gwen was with them. She held Cabal by the dog’s lead. The Queen smiled wanly as Merlin and Leon approached.

“Roderick has written a letter of safe conduct for you.” Gwen told Leon. “I gave it to Elyan, though I’m sure you won’t need it.” Leon nodded and took his horse from Percival.

“Here,” Gwen said hurriedly bending down to untie Cabal’s lead from her collar. “Why don’t you take the dog with you. She hasn’t done a thing all day and Meg has been spoiling her.” Free from her leash, Cabal danced about the horses just out of reach of their powerful legs. Accustomed to her antics the horses ignored her.

Leon gave a nod of agreement that doubled as a bow of farewell as the knights and Merlin rode out of the courtyard.

“So how did you and lady Fallon get on?” Gawain asked Merlin slyly when they reached open ground.

“She’s not a lady.” Merlin answered automatically and then heard Gawain snort and Elyan giggle. Percival raised his eyebrows. 

“Fallon isn’t noble born and she doesn’t like it when people go about talking about her as though she were.” Merlin snapped unreasonably annoyed. “I would have thought you might understand that, Gawain.”

After a few moments of silence Merlin muttered, “Sorry”. Gawain smiled at him ruefully and the five men continued across the empty plane. 

Merlin didn’t know much about tracking but he did not like the way Leon and Percival would look at the ground and then gaze out toward the horizon as though hoping to find something that wasn’t there.

No one was certain of the route Arthur and Kenneth had taken, only that they intended to end up along the coast. So, Merlin and the knights headed south but kept checking east and west. They had only traveled a few miles out from the castle when a thin pillar of smoke became visible rising up from behind a small hill to their east.

“It’s a bit early to make camp.” Gawain commented.

“And why would anyone want to camp out here so close to the castle?” Percival added. 

Without making any comment but signaling that Gawain and Percival should circle around the hill from the left while the others circled from the right, Leon led them forward. 

Leon called out a greeting as soon as the small campfire came into view. The two figures sitting beside the fire startled at Leon’s call and their hands went automatically to their hips. They seemed to hesitate frozen between running for their horses and standing their ground but just then Gawain and Percival approached from the other side effectively eliminating one of their choices.

As the knights closed, Merlin recognized Sir Kenneth and the other man as one of the knights of Dobhardhroim that he had seen briefly at the castle. There was no one else in sight and Merlin felt his heart sink. Sir Kenneth’s right arm was heavily bandaged and before they were able to school their expressions both men appeared dismayed.

“Sir Kenneth?” Leon inquired as he drew rein a few yards in front of Kenneth. “Did you not leave with a larger party this morning?” Merlin was surprised at the steadiness and clarity of Leon’s voice. It was almost as if he weren’t just barely resisting the urge to jump from his horse and shake Kenneth until he had explained why he was there and more importantly why Arthur wasn’t.

“Yes, indeed.” Kenneth also sounded smoother than he ought to. “But should you be roaming around Dobhardhroim without an escort, Sir-“ Kenneth tapped his chin although searching his memory, “Sir Leon.”

“King Roderick was generous enough to offer us safe passage. Where is the rest of your party, Sir Kenneth?”

Merlin wondered why this was taking so long and why it was still so polite. Sensing his nervousness his horse fidgeted. Merlin patted his neck and tried to be patient.

“Ah, you’re looking for Arthur.” Kenneth exclaimed as though he had just now picked up on the reason why Leon and several knights of Camelot might be wandering the countryside. Kenneth looked up as though assessing the position of the sun in the sky. “It is getting a little late, I see. Of course, had I realized that Arthur was meant to be kept on such a tight schedule then I would have been more mindful of the time.”

A low snarl could be heard then and Merlin was surprised to realize it had not come from himself. It had not come from Cabal either. The dog had darted off after a rabbit nearly as soon as they had left the outer gate and she had not seen fit to rejoin them since. 

“Where is Arthur, Sir Kenneth?” Leon asked with maddening patience.

Kenneth was smiling now. He had mastered his earlier surprise and now he spoke with easy confidence. “There is a small Roman shrine several miles to the west. I happened to mention it- it is quite well preserved- on our way back to the castle. Sir Bedivere expressed an interest in seeing it.” 

“Rather embarrassingly, I hurt my arm earlier today riding too close to a tree branch.” Kenneth indicated his bandaged arm. “So, I preferred to stay here and rest while Sir Brolin took the others for a quick visit to the shrine. Sir Loughran was good enough to stay with me. I’m afraid I’m quite helpless at the moment.” Kenneth indicated his arm again with a smile that he might have intended to be charming. 

“They should be returning any time, if you’d care to wait with us.” Kenneth offered.

Without answering Leon turned his horse and resumed riding south. Merlin and the knights followed his lead. As they rode off, Kenneth called after them, “See you back at the castle, then.”

When Kenneth and his small camp were once more hidden behind the low sloping hill Leon stopped.

“He was lying.” Elyan said as Merlin and the knights brought their horses closer together to be able to speak quietly with one another.

“Of course he was.” Leon answered, “but we can’t do anything about that.”

“Really?” Gawain demanded and his tone was such that Merlin supposed he might have been the one snarling.

“What could they have been doing, though?” Percival asked, ignoring Gawain. “I don’t think they expected to see us, but they had to know we’d come looking.”

“Maybe they thought they would have had more time?” Elyan speculated.

“It doesn’t matter about Kenneth.” Merlin said frustrated by the time that seemed to be slipping away from them. “How do we find Arthur and the others?”

“Arthur and the others would have expected to go south. We should do what we were doing, try to retrace their route until we find something.” Leon answered but he did not sound particularly confident.

“I say, we go back and take Sir Kenneth and his friend to the castle and get him to tell us the truth.” Elyan countered.

“This is his country. He will have the credibility, not us. I’m sure he’s cooking up a story now- if he hasn’t got one already- that will sound a lot more plausible than anything we could say.”

“So, let’s not take him back to the castle.” Gawain said.

“No.” Leon spoke firmly. Then he repeated more softly, “No. Kenneth’s arm was hurt which means there was a fight and if there was a fight we can find some sign of it and pick up the trail from there.”

Before anyone could say anything else that might delay them, Merlin rode off heading south.


	8. Chapter 8

The tremors had not subsided from the last time Merlin had used his magical fire to burn Arthur. He desperately wanted to be still but Arthur’s body jerked and shuddered with no respect for what he wanted. Merlin sat beside him and gently stroked his forehead and hair as though he was comforting him. Arthur had tried to pull away but he couldn’t summon the strength or coordination. 

The light stroking motion, the soft pressure of Merlin’s hand against his aching head was not entirely unfamiliar to Arthur. Whenever Arthur was sick or injured Merlin was the one who took care of him. Arthur remembered that sometimes Merlin would stroke his forehead, then. 

It usually started as just an attempt to determine if he was feverish but Merlin’s hand lingered- almost as if Merlin himself was unaware of what he was doing. Arthur remembered that somehow it had made him feel better. Sometimes Arthur even pretended he was asleep so Merlin wouldn’t stop. Now, though, the gentle touch revolted him. It revolted him the more because at one time it had been welcome. It was shame on top of disgust.

Merlin was talking. Arthur was listening, but Arthur was only listening because if Merlin got the idea that he wasn’t then he would call up the magic fire again. Arthur had had just about enough of the magic fire for the time being. So, Arthur listened while Merlin chatted happily. 

Arthur was used to the way Merlin nattered on about the gossip in the kitchens, Gaius’s work and anything else that fleetingly caught his constantly shifting attention. This was different, though. Now Merlin was nattering on about magic and chaos and the suffering of the dead. It was horrible but it was made the more awful because Arthur didn’t think Merlin understood that it was horrible.

“Why would you save my life? Why would you do that if you hate me so much?” Arthur asked suddenly. His voice was harsh from screaming. Though he had been listening to Merlin a part of his mind had been gnawing over his predicament. He was certain that something didn’t make sense. Something wasn’t right but his mind was pain-dulled and sluggish. 

Merlin’s hand in his hair paused and for a moment Arthur wondered if he would summon the fire again. Arthur’s question hadn’t had anything to do with what Merlin had been saying. Arthur gritted his teeth, waiting, but Merlin just started stroking again after a moment.

“I don’t hate you, Arthur.” Merlin answered. “Most of the time I’m quite fond of you in a way. I’d have to be a little fond of you or I’d have gone mad.”

“Fond enough to save my life?” Arthur considered whether it was worth risking the fire by trying to pull away again. He decided that it really wasn’t. At least, not yet, not until he stopped shaking from the last time, not until he could think a little more clearly, not until there was a chance his defiance might mean something besides pain.

“No.” Merlin was amused. “Your life is important to me, though. It’s just about as important as I’ve always said. We really are connected.”

“Prophecy?”

“Don’t be silly.” Merlin admonished. “Even in Uther’s court, you cannot have missed that the Old Religion teaches that there is a magical link between a king and the land.” Merlin shifted to get more comfortable. He left off stroking Arthur’s hair and leaned back on his elbows. “The land and the people possess incredible power but this power is nearly impossible to access. At least, it is almost impossible to access for anyone with any magic of his own. Yet, as fate would have it, Arthur, you happen to have the strongest connection to that power that anyone has ever seen. And not just Camelot. All of Albion will embrace you.”

“Why?” Arthur asked. He was unreasonably happy that Merlin wasn’t touching him anymore.

Merlin shrugged his shoulders. “Why was I born with the potential to be the most powerful sorcerer of all time? Why was the carter’s second son born with a twisted lip? ‘Why’ isn’t a particularly useful question. I’m sorry but your quest was always stupid. There’s nothing special about you. The only reason you’re King, the only reason why you have a connection to the land is that fate rolled the dice and your number came up.”

“The point is that you do have this connection to the land. Through that connection I can gain what amount to limitless power. Already I have taken so much. You can’t begin to grasp. I’m going to see to it that you live a very long time- and in every moment of your long life I am going to grow stronger and more powerful.”

“How? I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t and I’m not sure I can make it simple enough for you.” Merlin had become earnest. He was being so very Merlin that Arthur’s eyes swam. “Look, why do you think a sorcerer ever has anything to do with kings? Why did Morgause go to Cenred? Why did Nimue bother with Uther in the first place? It’s a bother but there are some things a sorcerer cannot do on his own. Any sorcerer with real ambition is going to have to partner with a royal at least for a while. Even bad kings can have this connection to the people and the land and if a sorcerer is able to feed from the magic of the land, well, it’s incredible.”

“You trust me, Arthur.” Merlin continued entirely caught up in his explanation. “Because of that trust I can draw on the land’s power. I can use it. I can take it for myself. As long as you let me, there is no end to the power I can have. ‘Most powerful sorcerer to ever live’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“What happens to the land?” New fear had seized Arthur’s heart.

“Do you remember the wasteland?” Merlin shrugged again. “It will be sort of like that. But, there is so much, Arthur. If I can somehow get you to live another hundred years there will still be more. If I could I’d have you live forever- I might try. Your connection is that strong and there is that much! I will become the equal of the gods themselves. But, yeah, there’s going to be some suffering. It is unavoidable. It’s balance, you see. For me to win as spectacularly as I intend to, a lot of other people are going to have to lose.”

“I won’t let you do it.”

“Yes, you will.” Merlin sounded sympathetic again. “You think you can chain me up in laws and friendships. You think if you can just find the right oath then words will bind me. You think you can build a prison out of love and loyalty that will hold me. And because of that, you trust me.”

Something flickered in Arthur’s eyes and Merlin saw it. “You won’t remember this, Arthur. I can’t compel you to trust me- well, I can. Of course, I can. I can do anything. If I do force your trust though, then the magic of the land is blocked from me. It’s one of those strange little magical puzzles.”

“It’s all right though because I figured it out. I can’t force you to trust me but I can force you to forget anything that might make you distrust me.” Merlin tapped the side of his head. “Clever, no?”

“All right. There, there. This doesn’t have to be terrible for you. Didn’t I say that I’m usually fond of you? Think of everything I’ve already done for you. I’ve fought so many of your battles, Arthur. I’ve never been given a proper ‘thank you’ but I don’t mind. I even let you believe that some of things you did mattered. I let you think that you earned your victories. A normal person would be grateful to have been so carefully looked after but I don’t hold your ingratitude against you.” 

Merlin reached for Arthur and Arthur jerked back to the furthest distance permitted by the chain. In that moment, Arthur didn’t care about the magic fire. Merlin did not summon the crackling white light, however. He just dropped his hands in his lap and looked at Arthur with a ‘let’s look on the bright side’ expression that was so painfully Merlin.

“You can still fight the Saxons. You can fight the Gaels and the Picts, too, if you want. Scavenge the last of the old Empire. Or you don’t have to fight anyone if you’d rather not.” Merlin spoke like a person offering candy to a small child who has fallen down and scraped its knee. “You can make any sort of law you like. Experiment. Make a new knight’s code. I don’t mind. Don’t be a prat and I’ll let you do whatever you want- within reason. You see, all that silliness you get yourself so caught up in, all the worry over taxes and agriculture, history and the common good, all that stuff just misses the point. It doesn’t matter. It’s just there to distract fools from how the world really works.”

“Merlin . . .” Arthur couldn’t continue. He didn’t know how to. The magnitude of what Merlin was claiming was too overwhelming. At the same time, though, there was something tugging at the back of his mind. Something he couldn’t grasp. It was like a word at the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t find it. It was important. It had to be- whatever it was had to be what proved Merlin wrong. Arthur concentrated. He struggled to capture whatever it was that eluded him because of all the emotions available to him at the moment frustration was his absolute best option.

“You are a prat, though.” Merlin said as sullenly as though the sorcerer had graciously made a peace offering and Arthur had slapped him for it. “Sometimes I think it would be easier with someone with at least a little sense.”

Arthur was focused on whatever elusive thought was darting about his head. It had to do with Merlin. Yes, of course it had to do with Merlin. It was . . . something was wrong. Arthur winced at the blinding obviousness of that. But no, it was a different kind of ‘wrong’. It was a ‘doesn’t make sense’ kind of wrong.

Arthur screamed. His body jerked wildly. The stone floor beat bruises into him as he writhed against it. The fire barely lasted a few seconds- just a warning- but whatever idea he had been chasing was gone.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if Uther had been the one born with the connection. Uther could always be reasoned with as long as there was enough in it for him.” Merlin continued as soon as Arthur’s shaking became mild enough so that his voice could be heard over the clatter of the manacles.

“You saved his life, too?” Arthur said because he knew that if he didn’t say something, Merlin would bring more fire. He needed just a moment to think- just a breath of space away from the pain.

“Yes, I did. Uther was a bastard but he was tough. Even the people who hated him most thought twice before they crossed him.” There was a note of admiration in Merlin voice. Arthur felt a tiny prick of jealousy and it made him want to bash his skull into the cold rock of the cave floor. “You weren’t strong enough to be king and since Uther protected you, I protected him. After Morgana broke him he I had no more use for him.”

Arthur knew Merlin wanted some sort of response but he had no words to say. What could he say? The grief of losing his father, the nagging fear that he had never really been worth what he had cost Uther and the hard realization that Uther had caused a great deal of unnecessary suffering, these were all old wounds. They still stung but Arthur couldn’t really even feel them now. Fear of what would happen to Camelot if Merlin was right and Arthur could be used as a means to hurt his people pushed out everything else. 

“Fine.” Merlin said peevishly. Arthur braced for the fire. He bit his lip to keep from asking Merlin not to do it, pleading. The fire didn’t come. Instead Merlin got to his feet and brushed the dirt of the cave floor off his breeches. “I’ll go and see if the knights have started looking for us yet.”  
*  
About six yards from the fire Corbin, arch-mage of the wolf-clan and blessed son of the White Mountain, stared into the light from the darkness. He watched the Sacrifice tip his head back against the stone floor and take several ragged breaths before fighting with the chains to find the least painful way to arrange his body. As Corbin watched, Whaghil stepped carefully over the knife ritually placed within the Sacrifice’s reach and left the circle of light to come and stand at his side.

“How is he?” Corbin asked. Though Corbin was the Arch-Mage and above Whaghil in the order of the White Mountain, Whaghil was the one who would lead the Sacrifice to his fate. It had taken five mages to create the spell and it needed three to maintain it but it was Whaghil who shaped and directed the magic. He decided when to send the needles of lightening through the Sacrifice. He chose when to press in upon the Sacrifice bringing the weight of all their combined magic down upon him and when to retreat and let the Sacrifice’s own nightmares do the work. Whaghil did all this instead of Corbin because Whaghil was very, very good at it.

“He wants to live, but he is willing to die.” Whaghil replied. There was sweat on the man’s brow and the muscles of his face sagged with fatigue. He would need to rest before he could go on.

“It is as the priestess foretold, then?” The Priestess of the White Mountain had foretold more than a strong Sacrifice. She had prophesied that the Sacrifice would come from the Summer Lands to fight the people of the Wolf after the Old Boar died and she had said that he would be such a powerful offering that he would nourish the World-Tree for the lifetime of the Gods. 

This was understood to be an exaggeration. The Priestess was very old, so old that some wondered how much power was really left in her withered body. Her acolytes gazed at her with a predatory light in their eyes. She had called this Sacrifice by his name, though, and that was a rare feat. She had said, ‘Arthur Pendragon’ and when the clan came to this country and spoke to their friends among the Summer Landers, they found that such a man, in fact, existed. What was more; only days after Vortigen, who had worn an image of a boar on his shield, died this Arthur Pendragon just fell into the hands of one of the clan’s oldest friends. It was one of the most accurate prophecies Corbin had ever watched play out. The amount of power promised still had to be an exaggeration, though. 

Corbin resisted the urge to touch the wolf’s head medallion that hung around his neck. When the rite was complete the medallion would hold all the power that had been taken from the anguished struggling of the Sacrifice. Other medallions charged with a Sacrifice had been known to accomplish great deeds of magic; storms had been turned back, men brought back from the brink of death, an enemy leader strangled even as his strongest mage stood right beside him. Eventually the medallions lost their magic but everyone knew that the stronger, the more powerful a Sacrifice the greater the power reaped.

Whaghil merely shrugged and left Corbin’s side to find a place to eat and drink and recover his strength for a while. No Sacrifice had ever lived more than a day but Whaghil might still have hours of work ahead of him before the end. Arthur Pendragon had not even seen the knife yet. There was still time. 

Aside from a mild trembling that by now could have as much to do with the cold damp of the cave as the aftereffects of magic, Arthur Pendragon lay still. He might have looked peaceful in the golden glow of the fire but Corbin was helping to maintain the spell that kept him prisoner and he felt the Sacrifice struggling wildly. There was no magic in Arthur Pendragon, though. The Summer-Lander had nothing, not the tiniest sliver of magic. Corbin didn’t understand how a man could want to live with absolutely no magic in him. Yet, it appeared that Arthur Pendragon did. Within the spell he searched desperately for some means of escape. He beat franticly against the circumference of his prison but with no result. There was no way out for him and his struggles would only exhaust him. The spell held him more securely than the iron chains.

As Corbin watched Arthur Pendragon, impatient for the power his death would bring, he saw that the man was speaking softly. There were just a few words and then he fell silent. Corbin took a moment to wonder what terrible things had been dragged from Arthur Pendragon’s mind. Who did he see? What calamity was he watching play out that would convince him to embrace nothingness? Not even Whaghil could see inside the spell, though. 

Sometimes when the Sacrifices were drawn from other clans, it was easy to guess what was happening. The Sacrifice would scream to his wife or children or friends. Their tortured cries told tales of betrayal, fear and loss. But Arthur Pendragon’s ordeal was opaque. Corbin wondered if Arthur Pendragon called upon the power of his gods or the strength of his fathers or the mercy of his mothers and he felt sincere compassion for the dying man because he would get no answer. No one would help him. No one would come for him. It was the nature of the magic that the Sacrifice was completely and utterly alone.  
*  
In more than an hour of careful search Merlin and the knights found nothing that could be considered useful. Their progress was painstakingly slow as they would travel southeast for some distance and then arc back traveling southwest. Their pace was maddening. Even Merlin could see the ground was no good for tracking and the chance of finding anything was small. Merlin was grateful for the knights, though. They might not be making much progress but it felt like more progress than what Merlin might have managed on his own.

“You could try a spell or something?” Elyan suggested suddenly.

“I’ve been trying. Nothing is working.” Merlin replied with a patience he didn’t feel. He had been trying since before they had left the castle courtyard but as happened sometimes his magic would not give him what he wanted.

“What have you been trying? Maybe if a locating spell doesn’t work, a tracking spell might? Oo, or a spell that improves a person’s vision so we could see ahead for miles?” Elyan was enthusiastic as he rapidly thought of more and more ways magic might be used to help the situation.

At another time, Merlin would have been amused and gratified by Elyan’s suggestions. Of all the knights Elyan seemed to be the one most interested in the mechanics of magic. He didn’t seem to have any interest in performing magic himself but he was endlessly curious about how it worked. Unfortunately, Merlin didn’t really think magic could be understood, at least, not the way Elyan wanted to go about it.

“Leave him alone, Elyan. I’m sure if there was something he could do then he would have done it.” Leon said tiredly.

“Yeah, I just thought that maybe there was something he hadn’t thought to try.” Elyan replied a little defensively. 

There really wasn’t any way for Elyan to understand that if Merlin’s magic did not intend to help him find Arthur then unless Merlin actually had a specific spell his magic just wasn’t going to help him find Arthur. Even with a spell, sometimes Merlin could have trouble. It was enough to make Merlin wonder, what was the point of being the most powerful sorcerer to ever live if his magic wasn’t going to reliably do what he wanted. 

To be fair Merlin’s magic did work as it was meant to most of the time but there were a few times- like now- when he couldn’t just think something simple like ‘Where’s Arthur’ and have a path of golden light suddenly appear. Merlin consoled himself by thinking that magic would never truly abandon him. If it wasn’t helping him find Arthur now then it was only because there was another way he was meant to do it. 

“I’ll keep working on it.” Merlin told Elyan. The knight smiled and quiet was once again restored.

A little while later, Cabal appeared a dozen yards ahead of them amid some shrubbery and slender trees. The dog had come from the south, so she must have passed the knights at some point before turning back. She sat panting and thumping her tail in greeting.

“You might have at least brought us a rabbit if you were going to go running off.” Gawain chastised. The appearance of the dog was a break in the monotony of the search and spirits lifted slightly. Cabal continued to sit and thump her tail.

As the knights approached the dog they became aware of motion from within the copse behind Cabal. There was no time for any of them to react before Hengroen stepped sedately out onto the path. He was followed by Ox and Stanley, who was Sir Lionel’s horse. Cabal thumped her tail and looked at Gawain as if to say, ‘rabbit, indeed.’

Percival, Elyan and Leon instantly surrounded the horses, checking their hooves, taking a look at the provisions they still carried. The appearance of the horses had made Merlin instantly excited. It felt like progress, a breakthrough of sorts but as time went on, Merlin realized that they knew very little more than they did before. It could be a bad sign as much as anything else to find the three animals wandering by themselves.

“Bedivere’s sword is here.” Leon announced. “Whatever happened he did not have a chance to draw it.”

“The horses don’t seem to be injured, I think they must have been startled and run while their riders were elsewhere.” Percival suggested.

“What do you suppose that means?” Elyan asked. No one had an answer.

Merlin went over to Cabal to stroke her head. “Can you find Arthur, Bedivere and Lionel?” He asked. 

The question was not entirely in jest. It did seem like Cabal had found the horses and brought them back. Surely, she should be able to track Arthur as well. It had occurred to Merlin once or twice that Cabal might have magic blood somewhere in her ancestry. She was remarkably intuitive. 

It wasn’t unusual for dogs to be incredibly aware of the people around them but Merlin still wondered. Once he had, half-jokingly, suggested to Arthur that Cabal might have some magic in her but Arthur had been adamant that she was just a normal dog. He didn’t explain why he believed that though. Now Cabal just sat and looked at Merlin with innocent eyes.

“So what now?” Gawain asked. 

Leon’s shoulders slumped a little, “The same thing as before.”

“We aren’t getting anywhere and we are losing daylight.”

“So what do you want to do?” Leon asked and Merlin could see that the tall knight was working hard to control his frustration. In a way, Merlin was glad to see it. If he believed that Leon was genuinely calm, Merlin might have ended up yelling and that would have accomplished nothing.

“We could split up, cover more ground. You, Elyan and Percival could go southwest to the coast while Merlin and I go southeast to the coast.” Gawain suggested.

“We only have one letter of safe conduct. What if we find something that half of us can’t deal with on our own?” Percival asked.

“Oh, come on. What if we find something that all of us can’t handle?” Gawain shot back

Merlin observed the back and forth. He did not know what was right. He felt Gawain’s impatience but he also understood Leon’s desire to be thorough.

“Let’s go south to the coast together. Then we can split up with half of us going east and half of us going west.” Leon offered as a compromise. As this was acceptable to everyone the party started off again.

Less than a mile later, Percival spotted a figure in the distance. Percival had particularly keen sight so the knights were able to stop and think about their options before they were seen. It might be some random traveler but no one really believed that. The figure was on foot and as he slowly came closer it became increasingly apparent that he was not walking properly. There was little danger he might escape if he ran at the sight of the horsemen. With that in mind, Merlin and the knights rode towards the man at a trot.

Merlin recognized the red cloak first- though it was covered in mud. As soon as he saw it he broke into a gallop as did the other knights. The figure did not seem aware of them until they were less than twenty feet away. He looked up then, and for a moment panic overtook his expression. In the next instant he was laughing, though there was a desperate edge to it.

“Bedivere!” Leon called as he leapt from his horse. Bedivere was using a makeshift crutch that was clearly not well suited to his needs and when he recognized Leon he abandoned it. Leon reached him just as he started to wobble dangerously. Carefully Leon guided him to a tree so that he could sit with his back resting against the trunk.

Merlin went to his saddlebags. He had not packed for himself so he wasn’t sure what he would have to work with. Whoever had packed for him, Gwen maybe, had filled the bags with medical supplies and Merlin quickly found bandages along with bags of dried herbs.

“Leon, Kenneth- Kenneth betrayed us. He led us into an ambush. Saxons, there were Saxons- Arthur-“ Bedivere’s words tumbled over each other in his eagerness.

“All right you can tell us in a moment. Be still.” Merlin soothed the frantic man. Merlin was desperate for whatever information Bedivere had but he had spent enough time with Gaius to understand that Bedivere needed to be calmed and his injuries assessed before they could be sure of getting coherence from him. And perhaps there was also a small part of Merlin that was suddenly afraid and desperately wanted just a few seconds more before learning Bedivere’s news.

Bedivere nodded already calming down. When the lip of canteen was placed against his mouth he drank slowly until Merlin decided that he had had enough for the moment. Bedivere’s most debilitating injuries were to his head- his hair was matted with blood and the gentlest probing revealed a large bump- and to his ankle which clearly couldn’t support his weight. In addition to these injuries, though, Bedivere’s hands were covered with blisters- some of which had burst and were now oozing.

“Do you mind if I try a spell?” Merlin asked.

“Do what you can, lad.” Bedivere answered.

Merlin tried his small repertoire of healing spells. When he was done he looked at Bedivere’s hands, his head and then he pressed gently against the injured ankle.

“I think it’s a bit better.” Bedivere said but there was a possibility he was just being polite. Without further delay, Merlin set about using more conventional treatments for the injuries.

After Bedivere had another drink of water and Merlin was busily cleaning the blood away from his head wound, Leon asked, “Can you tell us what happened?”

Bedivere nodded and slowly began to tell them everything that had happened since Sir Kenneth had led them into a Saxon ambush. He made a point of speaking of Sir Brolin and how he had helped them and died for it. He talked about the sorcerer who the Saxons must have brought with them. Most of all, though, he spoke of his believe that Arthur had been captured alive. He did not know what to make of the encounter Leon had had with Kenneth, but he was sure that Arthur must be alive. His body had not been among those fallen when Bedivere had woken up. The direction the Saxons had retreated after the battle was clear. If Bedivere had not been injured he would have pursued on his own. Bedivere seemed to be asking for Leon to tell him that he had done the right thing. That surprised Merlin a little, Bedivere had always seemed to him to be one of the more confident knights. 

“You can show us where the battle took place?” Gawain asked eagerly. 

“It’s only a few miles ahead- I think. I have not been moving very quickly and it might be a little less. Soon, you’ll be able to find it by following the crows.” Bedivere answered sadly.

“You need to go.” Bedivere announced as Merlin finished twisting the last bandage around his palm. Water, the chance to rest a moment and Merlin’s treatment were having a positive effect on him. He was much more lucid than when they first found him.

“Are you able to come with us?” Leon asked.

“No, that’s no good. Someone needs to bring word back to the Queen and the others. That should be me. I’ll only slow you down if you take me with you.” Bedivere insisted.

“Maybe one of us should go back with you?” Leon knew Bedivere was right but he struggled with leaving an injured man to fend for himself.

“There were still five Saxons left plus a sorcerer when I lost consciousness. They might have others wherever they’ve gone to ground. You can’t spare anyone to hold my hand. Besides you found Ox.” Here Bedivere turned to look affectionately at his horse grazing on the sparse grass nearby. “He’ll look after me.”

“You’ll need to be careful.” Leon advised as Percival helped Bedivere mount his horse. “Try not to be seen until you know whether or not Kenneth returned to the castle. There’s also a chance that Roderick is involved in this somehow. I don’t think he is- I hope he isn’t, but . . . be careful.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Bedivere waved off Leon’s caution as Percival placed Ox’s reins in his bandaged palm. The burn from his magically heated weapon had been bad enough but after that he had to use an ax to cut a branch from a tree to make a crutch and now he doubted he could use the reins at all. He trusted Ox, though. 

“Good luck, Leon. Good luck, all of you.” Bedivere called to them as he pressed his knees against the horse’s flanks to start him going north.

“How much were you able to heal him?” Leon asked Merlin quietly as he watched Bedibere go.

“I’m not sure. He seemed all right, though. I mean he seemed to be able to think clearly. And the other injuries weren’t that serious. He should be all right.” Merlin reassured. There was no time to waste second-guessing.

The scene of the battle was a few miles ahead as Bedivere had directed. The knights did not pause long at the site. Everything was as Bedivere had said and the knights had no more time than Bedivere had had to tend to the bodies. Despite the grim spectacle, Merlin found his spirits lifting. There was a trail now. It was clear enough- even to Merlin’s eyes- that a group of men had traveled south on foot. They were finally getting somewhere.

As the knights hurried along, the trail remained clear. The Saxons had apparently had no thought of stealth. That worried Merlin and it worried some of the others as well if their bleak expressions were any gauge. Still it was a relief to be moving quickly. It had been miserable to have to stand every dozen yards as the trackers among them searched the ground. Now they were in a race. There was little daylight left but Arthur had to be close. The Saxons would not have planned an ambush too far from their camp if they knew they would be traveling on foot, with a prisoner. Surely, they wouldn’t. 

“We can’t go any further tonight.” Leon announced, finally. 

“I can make a light. We can keep going.” Merlin countered. He had expected Leon to call a halt soon but he summoned a sphere of blue light to illustrate that they could go on and sent it floating gently toward Leon. Leon shook his head.

“Even if it were bright enough to help us see where we’re going, the Saxons will see us coming. We’re liable to just stumble into their camp after giving them plenty of time to get ready for us.” Leon answered as the light circled him once and then went out.

“We can’t just stop.” Elyan interjected. “We’ve got to be close.” Percival and Gawain both gave Elyan sympathetic looks but they were already dismounting. Percival had found a rope and was securing one end to Cabal’s collar and the other to the same tree Hengroen was being tethered to.

“We’ll take them by surprise in the morning.” Gawain reassured.

With practiced efficiency, Merlin went about making camp with the others. It didn’t take Merlin much effort to restrain himself from arguing with Leon and Gawain. It would take a great deal more effort to restrain himself from just slipping away as soon as the others were settled. He knew that Leon and Gawain had experience and good judgment when it came to strategy and tactics. In general, he trusted their competence. But, what was the point of being a powerful sorcerer if you were left sitting on your hands while your master was in danger? Merlin had no idea what awaited them. He didn’t know how many warriors to expect, how many sorcerers or what kind of magic they might have. He would be charging in blind but what if, while he was patiently doing the cautious thing, Arthur was being hurt? Wasn’t it possible that his magic would be more cooperative if he were by himself? Shouldn’t he try?

“Here,” Gawain offered Merlin half of the loaf of bread he’d brought over with him and sat down beside Merlin. The company had been very well provisioned with food and medical supplies. Guinevere and Leon had probably been worried for some time before they organized a search.

“Thanks.” Merlin took a bite of the bread and chewed dutifully.

“Leon is going to take first watch by himself. Then you and me. Then Percival and Elyan.” Gawain informed Merlin. Merlin didn’t know when that decision had been made, but he nodded anyway. If he decided to go none of the knights could stop him. Gawain squeezed his shoulder and they ate together in silence.

There was no fire but the night was mild. Merlin lay restlessly on his bedroll. He was annoyed that this was happening. He was the more annoyed because it shouldn’t be happening and if Merlin had been with Arthur that morning then it wouldn’t have happened. Merlin was working himself up into a rant but he stumbled over a thought. 

Kenneth had known- as had Roderick’s entire court- that Merlin had magic. With that knowledge Kenneth might have planned some way to deal with him. Merlin was powerful but if he were taken by surprise. . . Merlin suspected that a knife to the back would kill him as easily as any other man but Merlin didn’t want to be distracted from his anger. He still should have been with Arthur.

He would have been with Arthur, but Arthur hadn’t told him he was going anywhere. And why in mercy’s name would Arthur not tell Merlin that he planned to go tramping around territory that was constantly being invaded by barbarians? After all this time didn’t Arthur place any value on Merlin and his magic? Merlin felt his cheeks heat and his eyes prickle. What did he have to do to prove himself? 

Then Merlin remembered the night before. He’d told Arthur that he had wanted to visit Fallon in the morning. He had been excited about it- the chance to talk about magic. Merlin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes hard. Gods but Arthur could be thick.

When the time came for Merlin and Gawain’s watch, the two men got up and trudged toward the lookout position Leon had staked out at the start of his watch. When Gawain tapped Leon’s shoulder he got up to find his bedroll but when he caught sight of Merlin his eyes widened. In the next moment, Leon had recovered and he wished the two men an uneventful watch and shuffled off.

“I think Leon thought you might go running off by yourself.” Gawain confided once they had settled themselves.

“The night’s not over.” Merlin had meant it as a joke but it had come out more bitterly than he intended. He had- very seriously- considered running off after Arthur but at the same time he was offended that Leon would think him reckless.

“Leon is very . . . methodical.” Gawain said. “He’s good at what he does, though. He wants Arthur back as much as anyone. He really thinks it would be too dangerous to go after him now.”

“If he was afraid that I was going to endanger Arthur why didn’t he try and stop me?” Merlin was feeling sullen and the fact that Gawain of all people was being reasonable only made it worse.

“How would he do that?” Gawain asked entirely too sensibly because short of murdering Merlin in his sleep there wasn’t anything Leon could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted. 

“He could have talked to me.” Merlin didn’t like the idea that Leon didn’t trust him to work as part of a team. He especially didn’t like it because there was a chance that Leon might have a point.

“Yeah, he might have done that.” Gawain conceded and then added. “It’s going to be all right, Merlin.” 

Merlin nodded. He did not say, ‘what if . . .?’ because there was no point. ‘What if’ was a stupid question. Either it was going to be all right or it wasn’t. If it wasn’t then there wasn’t anything that was ever going to make it any better so the question was a waste of time. Merlin let Gawain put an arm around his shoulder and they sat through their watch looking out into the night.  
*  
More than a dozen candles were scattered about the rooms set aside for the Queen of Camelot. The small flames cast a friendly yellow glow that filled the space. It was a profligate waste of beeswax but the light held back the shadows. Gwen sat in a chair several sizes larger than herself and hugged her knees. She told herself that any moment now she was going to be sensible. She would blow out the candles and get into bed. When she thought of the darkness, though, and her cold bed she just hugged her knees tighter and stayed where she was.

It had been a trying evening. For a little while after Merlin and the others had left Gwen felt light and almost happy. She had been so sure that she’d see them again in a short time with Arthur and the others. Arthur would be mildly annoyed but Gwen would say that it was all right for husbands and wives to worry unnecessarily about each other. Arthur might keep grumbling but he would be pleased anyway. Gwen knew he would be pleased anyway. It hadn’t taken long, though, before the leaden weight of worry was right back in Gwen’s stomach heavier than before.

During dinner, which Gwen had felt obligated to share with Roderick and Rowena, the King had done his best to soothe Gwen. He told her that Kenneth knew these lands better than anyone else. He told her that it was more likely the spirit of adventure than any mishap that delayed Arthur’s return. Arthur struck Roderick as a ‘spirit of adventure’ sort of person. 

Gwen tried to be gracious. She could see that Roderick did truly believe everything was fine. There were a thousand innocuous reasons why Arthur and the others would be delayed. She would laugh later at how she had managed to work herself into a state over nothing.

After a little while, Gwen encouraged the conversation to move on to other topics. She didn’t want her fretfulness to undo the work she had put into building a rapport with Roderick. So, she smiled and she listened to Rowena talk as though she might never get a chance to open her mouth again. She complimented Roderick on the meal and his good fortune to have such ready access to fish. She answered any question put to her with care and attention. And she quietly continued to worry.

Meg had offered to stay up with Gwen but the Queen had insisted that her maid retire to the small servant’s alcove off of the main chamber. She had tried to send Edwina to bed as well but Edwina had insisted on staying. There would have been a quarrel for Edwina did not mean to give in, but the Queen did not have the heart for it so she let Edwina stay. Now Edwina sat slumped in another of the too large chairs snoring softly. The sight made Gwen smile and she told herself again that it was time to stop being silly and just go to bed. Yet she could not quite manage to put out the candles.

Gwen had been little more than a girl when she first became maid to the Lady Morgana. Though her lady was kind to her, Gwen was still intimidated by the castle, by all the people and by the knowledge that she was now responsible not only for her little brother, who could not be trusted in the least, but for the frighteningly grand ward of the king. 

In the winter, the nights came early and Gwen always made sure that her lady was snugly tucked up in bed fast asleep before she left her. The walk back to her house was dark and she was often cold. She would get scared sometimes, too. She would imagine that somehow she had gotten lost, that she had wandered off into faery land and she would never see anyone she loved again but then she would see in the distance the light from her father’s forge. The red glow promised warmth and comfort and safety. With the light to guide her Gwen knew she would find her way home. With this memory fast in her head Gwen could not bear to put out the lights.

The first tap on the door was so light that Gwen wasn’t sure that she had actually heard anything. A moment later there was a second slightly louder tap. Her heart jumped to conclusions and she bolted up running to unlock the door. As soon as the lock was free she threw open the door smiling broadly, “Arthur!” She called ready to launch herself into her husband’s arms.

Arthur wasn’t there. Instead, two men stood at the threshold. They looked at her with grim faces. Sir Lamorak, who was meant to be on guard duty, and Sir Bedivere, who was meant to be with Arthur, faced her with somber expressions. Hope fell so hard into fear that it upset Gwen’s balance and she rocked on her feet a moment before she pulled herself together and gestured for the two men to come into her room.

“My Lady,” Sir Lamorak started but he didn’t seem to know what to say after that.

The disturbance had wakened Edwina and now she brought Gwen a shawl to wrap around her nightdress.

“What is it? What has happened?” Gwen was surprised that her voice was so steady. “Sir Bedivere, are you all right?” She said this last as Bedivere’s appearance began to register. The knight was tired and pale and leaning heavily on Sir Lamorak. Bandages that had become loose and dirty wrapped his palms. His hair was matted with sweat and what upon closer inspection turned out to be blood. 

“I’m fine, my Lady.” Bedivere answered dismissively. Gwen made him sit down anyway. Meg who was now awake as well fetched wine.

As soon as Bedivere was settled, Gwen placed her hands on his shoulders, so that he would look her in the eye. “What’s happened?”

Bedivere told her. He told her what he had seen with his own eyes, what he guessed and what he had heard from Leon and the other knights. As Gwen listened she found that it was almost physically painful to restrain herself from calling for water and bandages. Her fingers itched to see to Bedivere’s injuries because that was the sort of thing that was useful and Gwen needed to feel some sense of usefulness and competence.

“I’m sorry, my Lady.” Bedivere said when he was done.

Gwen’s expression twisted. Bedivere was sorry. Bedivere was truly, terribly sorry and none of it was his fault. She put her hand on his shoulder and told him that he had done well. It seemed to make him feel better.

“Who else knows you’ve come back?” Gwen asked. Kenneth hadn’t returned but he might have agents within the castle.

“I came back after nightfall so I needed the gate guards to let me in. I told them I wasn’t used to the Dobhardhroim beer and I had gotten lost.” Bedivere had done a good job appearing drunk. He had taken off the bandage Merlin had wrapped around his skull and had tried to turn his limp into more of a stagger. “I asked for directions to where the Camelot knights were quartered and they were pleased to show me. I don’t think they knew me for anything but a man who spends his first day in a new place sampling the alcohol. I found Lamorak quickly after that. I don’t think anyone else saw me.”

Gwen nodded thoughtfully. She was thinking about Roderick and the chances that he knew what Kenneth was up to. It would be better if Kenneth were a rogue traitor and not working under his King’s direction. That seemed most likely but how much was she willing to risk on that assumption? As thoughts and plans raced around in Gwen’s mind, she suddenly became aware that everyone was staring at her.

Bedivere, Lamorak, Edwina and Meg were all looking at her with the same expression of nervous expectation. Gwen was confused until she realized that they were waiting to see if she was going to lead them or fall apart. Meg and Lamorak looked the most fearful. Their eyes seemed to beg her to be strong. There was more confidence in Edwina’s face and Gwen realized that though she was apprehensive her friend trusted her. In Bedivere she saw fear coupled with determination. His usual confidence had been stripped away but he was willing to walk through the gates of Hell- if only he knew which way to go to find them. The Queen felt a sudden rush of protectiveness for these people. She felt pride, too. Her people needed her. Arthur needed her. Guinevere was not about to let anyone down.

“There is nothing we can do right now.” Gwen spoke firmly, authoritatively. “I’ll go and see Roderick at first light. I’ll tell him everything we know about the Kenneth and the Saxons. All of our people need to be up and get together as much of our baggage as they can. If we have to leave things behind so be it but no one from Camelot is going to remain within these walls after sunrise.”

“First, we’ll find the place where you and Arthur were ambushed.” Gwen gestured toward Bedivere. “We’ll take care of our people there. Then, we’ll follow after Leon, Merlin and the others. We’ll meet up with them as soon as we can and then we will search the coast from the North Sea to the Celtic Sea until we find Arthur.”

“What if Roderick tries to stop us leaving?” Edwina asked only a little timidly. Gwen felt a rush of determination warm her blood and she could see that she was not the only one.

“Can we fight our way out of here, if we have to?” Gwen asked Bedivere. She didn’t think Roderick would try to stop them but if he did she didn’t mean to let him.

“Yes.” Bedivere and Lamorak said together. “That won’t be a problem.” Bedivere added. There was no bravado in his tone. It was simple fact. 

With these answers Guinevere finally understood just what a benighted, desperate, abandoned place Vorigen had allowed his kingdom to become. They truly could not protect themselves. The Saxons had extorted whatever wealth they might have used to build a force capable of defending themselves. Their only protection from conquest by their fellow Britons was that no other kingdom wanted to take on responsibility for Dobhardhroim and its insoluble problems. Camelot’s diplomatic mission that Arthur had tried to make as friendly and inoffensive as possible might as well have been the fabled army of Alexander. Gwen thought she understood some of Roderick’s initial resentment a little better now. 

“Right. Let’s rest while we can.” Gwen said and everyone got up and began moving about as if they knew what to do. Meg took Bedivere off to Arthur’s empty room to see what could be done about his injuries. Lamorak disappeared to pass the word to the rest of the guard. It was all very brisk and efficient.

“Will you stay with me?” Gwen asked Edwina when they were by themselves. 

“Of course.” 

“Let’s get these candles out, then, and see if we can’t sleep a little.”  
*


	9. Chapter 9

The sound of footsteps padding across uneven ground was not enough motivation for Arthur to open his eyes. He was thinking and he needed to think. Anyway, he knew it was Merlin. He recognized the tread. Even if he didn’t who else but Merlin could find him in this forsaken place?

“Maybe they’ve gotten lost.” Merlin commented as he walked around Arthur. He nudged Arthur with his foot until he opened his eyes. Then he plunked down beside him. Merlin’s words were slightly slurred and Arthur could see that he had just taken a large mouthful of bread. He was carrying an apple in his other hand. “I’m sure everyone’s got to be worried about you by now. It’s too much for them to hope that you might have managed to avoid trouble for once.”

“I bet poor Kay is worried sick.” Merlin went on chewing around his words. “You’ve missed your evening conversation. Kay’s probably beside himself imagining all kinds of disaster. I suppose that’s going to be one of the drawbacks of the mirrors.”

Arthur had forgotten about his evening communication with Camelot. Merlin was right Kay would be worried but he wouldn’t have a lot of options besides sitting and waiting to see if the mirrors would work next sundown.

“You’ve always been fond of Kay, haven’t you?” Merlin asked observing the concern flitting across Arthur’s face. “He’s a terrible grouch. He was a grouch even before kilgharrah crippled him but somehow you feel affection for him. You always love the traitors best, don’t you. Do you suppose that that is the cause or the effect?”

It was a premeditatedly nasty thing to say and Arthur blinked at it. He wasn’t thinking as clearly as he’d like but he had understood Merlin’s implication. It didn’t hurt as much as it might have done, though. Merlin was a poor strategist. He should have planned better because each successive barb seemed to have less impact. Fear for Camelot’s fate numbed Arthur to Merlin’s other attacks. Arthur allowed himself to feel a moment of satisfaction. It was a shabby sort of satisfaction but he was past being choosy. In this case, the thing that caught Arthur’s attention was not what Merlin had intended.

“You don’t know about Kay.” Arthur rasped.

“What?”

“You can’t. It was too long ago. No one remembers.” As Arthur spoke he began to realize that Merlin had known much more than he ought to since Arthur had first found himself in this cave. Merlin was mocking him with private thoughts. He was taunting him with private fears that lay so deep inside Arthur that he barely recognized them but Merlin spoke as though it was all general information. Arthur hadn’t realized at first because shock and hurt had overwhelmed him.

“Do you think there is anything about you that I don’t know?” Merlin asked chewing his bread thoughtfully. “I’m a sorcerer, Arthur. You have no secrets from me. I know every thought in your head. I know every thought you are capable of thinking.”

Arthur looked into Merlin’s eyes. Could it be true? Merlin stared back, eyes as distant as the sky. With magic, it could be true. With magic all things were possible and nothing had to make sense- hadn’t that lesson been scored into him by now? But didn’t something somewhere have to be real? Didn’t there have to be something magic couldn’t touch? Didn’t there have to be order? Limits? Constraints? Rules?- even if only to define the chaos? Merlin couldn’t know what Arthur was thinking because if he did then there truly was no hope.

“No, there’s no way you could know about Kay. You can’t know. The world won’t work that way. Everything falls apart if it does.”

“’I don’t want it to be true’ still isn’t an argument.” 

“And . . .” There was something else. Arthur struggled to find it. It had to be there. “Merlin wouldn’t do this.”

“We’re back to that again, are we?” Merlin sighed. “Have it your way then. There is no dangerous magic. Camelot is safe and always will be. You and I have a grand destiny to build a country for the benefit of the people who live in it. Courage and determination are the only things you need to save the world. And, everyone you love loves you back.”

“It’s not that.” Arthur shook his head. His throat hurt and his mouth was too dry but he had managed to catch hold of something and he couldn’t let it go. “Merlin’s not cruel.” 

It was easy to believe that Merlin had manipulated Arthur- had been manipulating him from the beginning. Arthur could believe that Merlin had no respect for him. Arthur could believe that whatever affection Merlin had for him that was not feigned was no more than a child’s affection for a toy. Arthur could believe that Merlin would do whatever harm was necessary to achieve his goals- whatever they may be. Arthur could believe that Merlin was ultimately as helpless against the power within him as anyone else. These were his nightmares, so he could believe them. 

All the things Merlin had said fit neatly into the precise shape of Arthurs’s greatest fears. But, for all that, Merlin always meant well. He never enjoyed the suffering of others. He did not gloat. He did not seek to inflict gratuitous pain. And perhaps more than anything else Merlin was not selfish. He might use Arthur but he would not taunt him after having done it. No, Merlin would try to convince himself it was for Arthur’s own good. There was more too. Merlin didn’t sound like Merlin. Or sometimes he did; sometimes he sounded exactly like Merlin but then other times he sounded like someone else- someone just as familiar. . . 

“I’m not cruel?” Merlin said as though the words puzzled him. “You still think you know me. You still think that logic and reason can help you. You still think two and two make four. They don’t, Arthur- not if I don’t want them to.”

The light from the fire illuminated a perfect circle. The light didn’t flicker with the flames. Arthur hadn’t noticed before but now he was fascinated. It didn’t make sense. Nothing fit together . . . .

“Arthur!” Merlin sounded angry but it wasn’t how Merlin sounded when he was angry. It wasn’t Mer-

Several minutes later, Arthur lay on his side gasping. He couldn’t stop trembling. Merlin had stopped the flood of white fire but the uncontrollable shaking lingered. At some point, Arthur must have lashed out and smashed his hand into the floor because his right wrist was swelling painfully against the manacle and several bones in his hand were broken.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked after several more minutes.

Reluctantly Arthur’s eyes were drawn toward Merlin. The sorcerer was watching him with concern as he cut a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth. A drop of juice slid down the blade of his knife. It hung on the edge for an instant, clinging hopelessly before falling to splatter against the ground. 

“The knights should be here any time.” Merlin commented. “I wonder what is taking so long. Do you suppose they’ve gotten lost?”

Arthur didn’t answer.

“No, maybe not.” Merlin answered his own question. “Leon doesn’t have enough imagination to get lost.”

An automatic defense of Leon came to Arthur’s lips but no sound came out. The quiet in him was too heavy.

“Or it could be no one has started looking yet. Maybe they think you’re staying back on purpose to give Gwen and the others a chance to make some progress without having you underfoot.” Merlin didn’t seem bothered now by Arthur’s silence and continued to talk as though he was just chatting to pass the time. “Gwen’s probably doing very well. Roderick likes her. They may have an agreement already. You should be proud of Gwen.”

“I am proud of Gwen.” Arthur murmured because it was worth the effort to have something simple and true to say.

“So you should be.” Merlin nodded and sliced another piece of apple. “She was a good choice. Mithian would have been all right but Gwen was always the better candidate. She is a genuinely generous and kind woman. Guinevere is the ideal Queen. Well, you do have to look past her fondness for other men but it’s not like that turned out to be an insurmountable obstacle.”

“Who do you suppose will be next? Another knight, maybe? Gawain would certainly be up for it. He’s been scouting his opportunity since before Lancelot died the first time.” Merlin finished the apple and tossed the core away. Arthur watched it arc through the air, hit the ground and then disappear beyond the light of the fire in a bouncing roll. “I don’t think it will be Gawain, though. He’s too much fun for Gwen’s taste. I’m going to guess Percival.”

“There has to be a chance I’ll believe it if you want it to hurt, Merlin.” Arthur rasped and despite the clear effort it took to speak Arthur still managed the echo of a condescending drawl.

“That’s the spirit, Sire.” Merlin grinned broadly; pleased Arthur was back in the conversation. “That could be or maybe it doesn’t hurt because you don’t really mind that much.”

Arthur stared uncomprehendingly.

“Think about it.” Merlin instructed; his grin growing wider. “You didn’t really care about Lancelot. Oh, I’m not saying your pride wasn’t hurt a bit and they did put you in a bad position but you knew they were in love. You knew and you didn’t do anything about it. How many men are happy to have their lover’s lover around when they have the power to send him away? No one who was really in love would think, ‘sure, he may be desperate to get his leg over the woman I want to be my wife but otherwise he’s a solid enough fellow’.”

“But you figured it was probably fair that Gwen should have someone to love her with his whole heart. You certainly don’t. You’re in love with Camelot and honor and your knights and ‘trying to do the right thing’. You’re even in love with me. It’s only after all that that there is anything left over for poor Guinevere.”

“You were so arrogant you didn’t think you even needed to worry about Lancelot causing trouble. He was the perfect knight- like Gwen was the perfect Queen. They were loyal and honorable and pure despite their passions. You thought that they both cared enough about you to control themselves or to be discreet. You thought that because you all loved one another that that would be enough to keep you all safe, to keep it all dignified. It wasn’t though. Instead it was just as dangerous and tawdry as any tale of an amorous queen sneaking behind an oblivious king’s back to have it off with some eager bumpkin. It was more pathetic than anything else, really.” The corners of Merlin’s mouth turned down in distaste.

“It might just have been all right with Gwen- despite her . . .tendencies. It was Lancelot who turned out to be the big disappointment. But you really should have known. The very first thing Lancelot did when he came to Camelot was lie to you about his nobility. It doesn’t get any less subtle but you didn’t take the hint.” 

“You never could get your head around how easy deception was for Lancelot. I mean think how willing, how eager Lancelot was to lie for me. Not only did he lie for me but he believed I was a hero- nobler than any knight, greater than all the others. You shouldn’t feel too bad about that part, Arthur. Lancelot had to believe that my lies and my secrets were ultimately honorable because then his own lies and secrets could be honorable, too.”

There was a furrow of confusion upon Arthur’s brow. He had heard Merlin but it had been too difficult to keep track of the flow of words. His thoughts were woolly with thirst and pain and weariness of spirit. The effort of sorting bitter truth from shameless calumny required too much concentration.

“Where did I lose you?” Merlin asked with the patience of someone helping a child with arithmetic. He scooted closer now and Arthur felt him put a hand on his shoulder. Merlin’s hand was warm and Arthur suddenly became aware that he was very cold- all the warmth within him stolen by the stone of the rock floor. Arthur closed his eyes. He felt his spirit melting away into the stone along with what little body heat he had left. 

A wave of despair crested over him. He was drowning in Merlin’s words and yet they were so trivial. No, they weren’t trivial. They were very important, so many of them were so close to true and yet, and yet not quite. Merlin’s words were a distraction, though. Arthur had allowed himself to be exhausted chasing after Merlin’s words when there was a larger picture. There was only one thing that Merlin had said to him that really meant anything and as Arthur was helpless to do anything about that he was left suffocating in petty spite.

“You need to rest.” Merlin said for all the world as though he cared. Arthur wished Merlin would take his hand away because he hadn’t known how cold he was before Merlin touched him and if Merlin took his hand away he might forget again. 

“The knights really should be on their way now. It won’t be much longer, Arthur.” With that Merlin got to his feet. He gave Arthur one more look then turned away. 

Arthur watched Merlin get up. He watched him turn away and walk out of the circle of light. After that he listened to Merlin’s footsteps grow quieter. He continued to listen as the sound disappeared to nothing. He still listened. He listened until his ears rang. Then, very slowly, Arthur shifted his body so that he was on his forearms and knees. He winced at the sound of the chains dragging against the rock and did his best to move as silently as he could even though his bruised muscles and trembling limbs threatened to revolt.

Biting his lip Arthur crawled forward the little distance until he had moved as far as the chains would let him go. Then he reached forward. With the fingertips of his injured right hand he could just touch the blade of the knife Merlin had used to cut his apple. Arthur could not entirely prevent the grunt of pain as he nudged the knife. The knife barely moved and it took him several tries before he was able to inch it close enough to reach with his uninjured hand. When the knife was finally firmly in his grasp he clutched it. He held it protectively against his stomach and curled around it. For several seconds he just cradled the knife and squeezed his eyes shut. Then, he let his breath out softly. He needed to think and he needed to hurry.  
*  
Though there was activity in the courtyard, packs being loaded, horses saddled, armor being donned and cold breakfast being hurriedly consumed, the mist seemed to dampen the noise. It was early enough in the morning that no matter how much was going on the world still felt quiet and lonely. Gwen fought against that hollow feeling as she stood on the castle steps and watched Camelot’s knights and guardsmen prepare to decamp. Her instinct was to help and it would have pleased her to have something practical to do but she had learned in her months as Queen that sometimes it was easier if she let people get on with their business.

The need to feel useful was made keener by the Queen’s disappointing meeting with Roderick. The king had granted her an audience despite the early hour and he had been attentive if a little bleary eyed as she explained what Bedivere had told her and that she intended to go out in pursuit of the Saxon raiders immediately.

“My lady?” Edwina came up beside her and broke Guinevere from her thoughts. Edwina was dressed much as Gwen in trousers and a tunic. She clutched a shawl around herself as well. It was not cold but there was something about the gloaming that seemed to encourage bundling up.

“Roderick is sure everything is a misunderstanding.” Gwen said more bitterly than she had intended. She felt sorry for Roderick but her patience had been worn to nothing. “He’s going to wait, shut up in his castle, for everything to turn out all right.”

“This is his country. Kenneth is his liegeman. Doesn’t he want to do something?” Edwina demanded. She could understand if Roderick meant to be their ally and she could understand if he meant to be their enemy but she couldn’t understand how he could mean to be neither.

Gwen shrugged. It wasn’t important at the moment. “The sun’s rising.” She said instead because that was important.

“My Lady, we’re ready.” Bedivere came up to her then hobbling a little but steady enough with a stick. Lamorak was leading the ladies’ horses. Gwen nodded and mounted with Lamorak’s help. She walked her horse through the already mounted knights and guardsmen. They smiled at her and inclined their heads as she rode through. Gwen knew them all by name and she considered herself friends with many of them.

These men had been hounded out of their beds and chivied into preparing for a long march by their captains and sergeants. All they knew was that there had been a Saxon raid and that they were going to investigate- they were going to help. They hadn’t grumbled. They were ready now to go wherever Gwen told them they were needed. The Queen was proud of them all.

When she came to the front of the procession, she turned her horse to address the assembled men. As she did so she noticed several Dobhardhroim faces. They were gathered in ones and twos, peering at her from windows or pausing in their work to watch. She was flustered for a moment. She was nervous enough to speak to her own people but the presence of the Dobhardhroim changed things subtly.

“You’ve heard-“ Gwen stopped. Her voice had come out too soft and she did not have everyone’s attention. She swallowed and tried again.

“You’ve heard there was a Saxon raid yesterday.” Now Gwen’s voice sounded too loud in her ears as everyone else was suddenly quiet. “It was not a raid. It was an ambush. The Saxons attacked Arthur, Bedivere and Lionel along with their Dobhardhroim escort as they were exploring the coast.” The quality of the silence changed. Gwen felt the change in her own stomach. Bedivere was beside Guinevere and every eye turned to him.

“Sir Bedivere managed to survive the battle, though Sir Lionel did not.” Gwen reclaimed the attention of the crowd. For a moment she thought about speaking of Sir Kenneth and Sir Brolin but she knew that the people of Camelot wouldn’t care right now and if the people of Dobhardhroim cared then they could ask their own king. “Arthur was taken prisoner.”

Now there was rustling, murmuring, the first stirring of powerful emotion after shock. “Leon, Merlin, Elyan, Percival and Gawain started the search yesterday.” Gwen all but shouted. The crowd quieted. “We are going after them now. We are going to find Arthur and then we are going to kill the people who attacked us.”

That was all Gwen had to say, so she turned her horse and began to lead the column forward. She hadn’t managed not to cry, but they had been silent dignified tears. It was the sobbing that she had to guard against. She rode stiffly and stared straight ahead. Edwina and Sir Bedivere rode beside her but she did not look at either of them.

“My Lady!”

The call came from some distance behind her and Gwen ignored it.

“My Lady!”

Whoever was calling her was closer now. Gwen gave ignoring it another try.

“My Lady!” This time the call was accompanied by a hand on her bridle. This was accompanied by the sound of sliding steel and the hand disappeared. Gwen stopped but she waved the others to go past. 

Sir Lamorak was pointing his sword at a pale faced Dobhardhroim.

“My Lady.” The man, boy as Gwen looked more closely, said again, this time in a very small voice. “My Lady, King Roderick would like to speak with you.”

Gwen looked back toward the castle. Roderick was standing on the steps with Fallon and a few of his other councilors. Gwen turned toward Edwina and Bedivere and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders before turning her horse. Since Gwen was going back to the castle she had to ride through the men who were still proceeding through the gate. They all gazed at her with mixtures of sympathy and anxiety, encouragement and resolution. Gwen found herself crying again.

“My lady,” Roderick began when Gwen arrived by the steps, Bedivere and Lamorak flanking her. “Since we spoke I have had Sir Kenneth’s chambers searched.” Roderick looked pale and unhappy. Gwen waited. “We found . . . papers, documents. It appears that Sir Kenneth has been in treasonous communication with Saxon lords for some time. You were right.”

“I’m sorry.” Gwen offered. 

“I’d like to come up with you.” Roderick said, fighting the urge to duck his head. “I’d like to find out what has been going on.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Thank you. I just need a little time to gather some men.” Roderick said smiling a little.

“Now that we have started we cannot wait.” Gwen wasn’t about to tell her people to stop and cool their heels while Roderick got himself in order. “You should be able to catch up with us, though. We’ll need to stop at the site of the ambush, at least. After that we’ll be on the lookout for Leon and the others.”

Roderick nodded and Fallon stepped forward. Roderick gestured toward the red-haired physician. “Fallon could go with you now. She might be of some use?” 

“Thank you. We’ll be glad of her company.” Gwen said genuinely grateful. A healer and a sorceress would be an asset. “Sir Lamorak would be pleased to remain and be of assistance to you until we meet again.” Gwen offered in return. It occurred to Gwen as she finished speaking that she had not taken into consideration whether Lamorak would actually be pleased or not. It didn’t matter either way, of course, but Gwen thought that this might be the first time that she had given an order to a knight without bothering to care how that knight felt about the order. 

“Thank you.” Roderick accepted. Lamorak dismounted and went to stand beside Roderick. He looked stoic rather than pleased. In the meantime, a horse had been brought around for Fallon and she fell in beside Gwen and Bedivere as they turned back to follow the last of the column as it left the castle.  
*  
Lying flat along the ground, Leon looked out toward the rising cliffs ahead. The trail led clearly toward a cave mouth at the top of a small but steep slope. Signaling to the others who were lying beside him, Leon began to retreat. He kept low to the ground until he was certain that he was out of the sight line of anyone in the cave.

“What are we waiting for?” Merlin demanded as Leon and the others returned to the horses that had been tied up behind the tree line about a mile from the cliff. Cabal was tied with the horses and she wined and pulled hard on her leash as she saw the men return.

“They’ve got to be there.” Gawain added as Leon retrieved his crossbow from his horse. Leon agreed but the cave made him nervous. He had hoped to get a chance to see what kind of force the Saxons had before attacking. He had wanted to know exactly where Arthur was before they went charging in.

“Someone is doing magic in that cave.” Merlin announced. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

“Can you tell what is happening?” Elyan demanded eagerly.

Merlin shook his head and Leon could see that he was frustrated. “There is strong magic that’s all I can tell.”

“Are you stronger?” Leon asked.

“We’ll see.” Merlin answered. Leon gritted his teeth. A cave filled with unknown magic was not the ground he would have preferred. As it couldn’t be helped, though, he did his best to consider strategy.

“Can you make light for us?” It would be helpful if they didn’t have to worry about torches.

“Yeah.”

“All right,” Leon said, “when we go back, Gawain and Elyan circle around so that you can approach the cave from the left. Percival, Merlin and I will come from the right. Let’s stay hidden as long as we can. Wait for my signal Merlin and then make the brightest light you can behind us. Maybe we can blind them for a moment.”

“Stay toward the rear, Merlin. If there is magic do what you can to counter it but leave the rest to us.” Leon ordered looking Merlin directly in the eye. The sorcerer did not look happy but he nodded. Leon had no choice but to trust his acquiescence.

“And us?” Elyan asked.

“There are too many unknowns to try to work out a precise strategy.” Leon shook his head. He had no idea how many Saxons to expect, how many sorcerers. The cave could be large with a dozen tunnels running off in all directions or it could be no more than a single chamber. He had no idea where Arthur was, if he was injured or how well he was guarded. “Just get to Arthur and kill anyone who tries to stop you.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Gawain grinned. Everyone else nodded and the group made their way back to the cliff.

Elyan and Gawain were just on the point of separating from the others to make their way around to the other side of the cave when sudden noise from the cave entrance froze everyone in place. In the next moment men began to emerge. They were Saxons, not that Leon had had any doubt but it still sent a shiver through him to see the strange leather armor, the long braided beards and the round shields. After six warriors came forth two men in long robes followed. These men did not wield clubs or axes but that did not mean they were less dangerous. 

One of the things Leon most deeply resented about magic was the deceit that lay at its heart. Everything Leon admired in himself told him not to attack anyone who was unarmed. Yet those unarmed men were at least as dangerous as the warriors beside them. People spoke of magic as a corrupting force. People said that the chaotic power of magic drove the humanity out of its wielders. Leon could not speak to that. What Leon did know was that because of magic the old, the feeble, the unarmed, women and even children had become legitimate targets of war. Because of magic such people sometimes needed to be killed as a matter of urgent self-defense. This was the worst sort of corruption Leon could imagine and it sickened him to know how much he himself had been caught in it.

As Leon watched he saw that the sorcerers and the warriors seemed to be in the midst of an argument. The shorter of the two robed men was talking urgently to the tallest of the six warriors. He touched his arm and gestured back toward the cave. The tall warrior shook off the hand. The two stared at each other and for a single moment Leon allowed himself to hope that the two would fight. They didn’t fight. The warrior turned away from the sorcerer and started down the slope away from the cave. The sorcerer stood watching but eventually he hurried after the warrior and fell into step behind him.

Leon exchanged looks with the men around him. Gawain and Elyan were grinning happily with the thought that the force remaining had been reduced. Merlin, though, was still staring speculatively at the cave entrance.

“Is there still magic in there?” Leon whispered. Merlin nodded without looking away. 

“Gawain,” Leon struggled to keep the irritation from his voice. “Follow them for a few miles. See where they’re headed.”

“Why?” Merlin asked finally turning from the cave to stare at Leon. Leon felt the urgency as well but he couldn’t leave his path of escape vulnerable.

“If they come back while we’re in there we’ll be caught between two forces. If they are coming back right away we’re better off waiting until they’re all together.” Leon whispered, annoyed to be explaining himself. Gawain was already moving away in a crouching jog. “As soon as Gawain gets back we’ll go in.” Leon promised.

Merlin nodded swallowing his impatience with a clear effort and turned back to stare at the cave.  
*  
The knife had warmed as Arthur clasped it against himself. He held the knife in his left hand and he had to keep reminding himself that he couldn’t hold it in his right. Even in his left hand though, the knife was a gift. 

A gift was a bit too accurate a description advised a suspicious voice in Arthur’s mind. How could Merlin have been so careless as to leave a weapon within Arthur’s reach? Merlin could be absent-minded and sloppy. But still, there couldn’t be one chance in a hundred that he would simply forget the knife. 

This could be the hundredth time, though. Arthur had no idea how many times he had been in this position. Maybe the idea that Arthur could be capable of any meaningful act hadn’t occurred to Merlin. And even if it had Merlin could use magic to undo so many of his mistakes that he wouldn’t be able to understand that he needed to be careful. 

Whatever the case, it wouldn’t make a difference if Arthur didn’t stop getting himself caught up in silly details while he avoided the only thing that really mattered. The only thing that merited his attention was that Merlin was using him to harm Camelot. Through Arthur Merlin was gaining more and more power. He already had too much and if Arthur didn’t stop him then nothing else had a chance. Arthur couldn’t let the land and his people suffer. He couldn’t let them be preyed upon by whatever it was Merlin was turning into. For Merlin’s own sake as well Arthur had to stop him. 

Throughout all the lies, throughout all the layers of secrets, throughout every version of Merlin Arthur had encountered this had been constant: Merlin wanted Arthur alive. Arthur knew what he needed to do. It was the only thing left that he could do. The decision was made.

Though it was not the destiny he would have chosen, Arthur tried to take it philosophically. There would be a certain symmetry to his fate. After all, hadn’t the magic that enabled his birth opened the door to chaos and catastrophe. It was right that his death should go some way to fixing things. The only meaningful events in his life would end up being his birth and his death. The rest was just marking time. A part of Arthur had always suspected something like this. He had always thought there was a chance his death would be more important than his life. He had thought that with the Doracha and perhaps a dozen other times besides that. Still, it wasn’t the answer to his quest that he had hoped for. It wasn’t the destiny he would have chosen.

Camelot would be all right. Gwen would be all right. She was a good Queen and she would have help. Between Gwen and Kay and Leon and the others there wasn’t one thing Arthur could do that one of them couldn’t do better. It would probably be easier without a Pendragon to draw the hatred of everyone with magic. Maybe his death would be enough to satisfy Morgana. Arthur still didn’t understand why she hated him so much but maybe without him she could find some peace. Without Arthur, Merlin wouldn’t harm Camelot. He’d have no reason to punish Camelot. To do so would be malicious and vindictive and Merlin wasn’t. . . . That thought made Arthur feel odd suddenly- like he had forgotten something.

Arthur shook his head. Why was he delaying? He usually didn’t allow much time between decision and action so why was he lolling about composing his own damn epitaph when time was so very precious. Arthur didn’t want to die. He really didn’t. He couldn’t let that stop him, though. There were worse things than dying. Arthur had a duty. 

Left-handed, Arthur thought, hefting the knife. He could do this left-handed. He’d been trained to kill since birth after all. Arthur laughed and brought the knife to his throat.

“Arthur.” 

Terror froze Arthur. He was too late. Merlin would stop him. He had dithered and lost the only chance he might ever have. Tears stung his eyes. Just as Arthur decided he might as well test his reflexes against the sorcerer’s and get as far as he could the realization caught up to him that the voice had not been Merlin’s. 

Arthur looked around. He was still in a circle of bright evenly distributed light beyond which was utter darkness. As he stared though, he thought he saw movement. It was just a flicker and Arthur felt sure he could convince himself that it had been his imagination.

“It’s not safe here, whoever you are.” Arthur whispered into the darkness. His voice sounded as painful as it felt. He felt foolish and once again he lifted the knife.

“Arthur.” His name was spoken fractionally louder this time. 

“You can’t help me.” Frustration competed with curiosity. Again Arthur searched the perimeter of darkness. Was there an outline- a shadow adumbrated by shadow? “Go away.” Arthur urged. He needed to be alone for this.

Arthur waited. He listened but there was nothing. Annoyed with himself, Arthur watched the darkness, peering intently into the world beyond the light. Then he saw a silhouette. 

“Lady of the Lake.” Arthur said pleased the mystery was now resolved. He looked about and found other silhouettes as though a mass of people were hovering just beyond the light. He looked again and found only the Lady of the Lake. “I dreamed of you once.”

“It was not a dream, Arthur. Wait.” The voice was clearer now and a little louder.

“I can’t.” Arthur answered half apologetic. The dream with the Lady of the Lake had been a good dream. It had comforted him. But, the Lady of the Lake was Merlin’s friend. She was a sorceress and Arthur had killed her once though she had been in another form. The Lady of the Lake could not be here to help him.

“Wait!” The lady called and it sounded desperate to Arthur. “Just look. Look around.”

Arthur was torn. A part of him was screaming, cursing. Time was running out. How dare he delay? He wasn’t going to get another chance. Another part of him, though, remained uncertain. Too many things didn’t make sense. While there was a very real part of Arthur that believed that only his death had the power to give meaning to his life there was another part that harbored the nagging suspicion that this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Arthur swallowed in a dry throat. He closed his eyes then opened them again. All right, fine. Quickly, though. 

He looked. He looked and saw exactly what he expected to see. He saw a circle of light, a fire where the flickering flames did not affect the light cast. He saw the edge of darkness and nothing beyond. He couldn’t even make out the Lady of the Lake’s shadow any longer. He saw the iron ring that had been bolted into the stone floor. He saw the chains that looped through the ring to bind his hands and feet. He looked at his right hand. It was swollen and ugly. He couldn’t make a fist and it was agony to try. Blue bruises were forming and his knuckles were split and cut. The flesh of his wrist had tried to swell beyond the manacle but the iron had dug in. 

Grimacing, Arthur next looked at the knife still clutched in his left hand. It was just a belt knife, the kind anyone might carry around. The hilt was simple wood. The blade hadn’t been sharpened. Arthur had noticed this before but he reasoned that it would have to be sharp enough and the rest was just bad luck. As Arthur looked, though, something strange happened. The knife blade lengthened and sharpened. Arthur was so surprised that he nearly dropped the knife. But even a transforming knife was very literally all his life was worth so Arthur held on and felt as well as saw the hilt change into something bejeweled and intricately embossed.

“Lady of the Lake?” Arthur called as surprise drove out every other thought. He looked up to where he had last seen the sorceress’s shadow. She wasn’t there but something was different. The light wasn’t as bright and now it flickered with the movement of the flames. It wasn’t the change in light, though, that drew Arthur’s attention. It was the presence of a man, crouching just a few feet from him. The man had bright red hair and wore a long robe. He had braids in his beard. Arthur recognized him as the last person he had seen before waking up chained to the ground. Arthur’s surprise began to give way to anger.

The Saxon sorcerer had been watching Arthur impassively but his brow suddenly furrowed. Arthur had the satisfaction of watching genuine shock spread across the man’s face as it slowly dawned on him that Arthur was looking at him, that Arthur saw him.

The man shouted something in his harsh guttural language and lunged toward Arthur. Arthur waited until the Saxon was in range of his manacled hand and then plunged the knife inches into his belly. The chain stopped the dagger from plunging in to the hilt, so Arthur twisted his wrist and pulled up doing as much damage as he could. The Saxon started to fall forward as Arthur withdrew the knife and slashed it across the man’s chest and into his arm. Blood began to spurt. Arthur had just a moment to think, ‘and that’s left-handed!’ before the world erupted into shouting, the clash of metal and shifting lights.

The dying Saxon had fallen over onto Arthur, pinning him. Struggling to free himself, Arthur listened to the cacophony around him. At first, he just heard the sounds of the Saxons calling to one another then suddenly, he heard his own name. It sounded like Leon. Leon!

Arthur tried to call out but he had already shouted himself nearly mute even if the breath hadn’t been knocked from him. The lack of breath didn’t stay a problem for very long though because suddenly the weight pinning him was gone. Arthur held the knife before him in a defensive posture. He had also intended to leap into a crouch but the chains still held him and- Arthur realized somewhat belatedly- he didn’t really have the physical capacity to do much leaping at the moment. It was all right, though, because Percival was beside him.

“Arthur?” Percival had an arm around Arthur helping him into a sitting position. His gaze shifted between Arthur and the cave where the sounds of battle were slowly diminishing.

“’m ‘lright.” Arthur tried to tell Percival but he was too thirsty and his throat was too raw. He was also so cold that he was shivering. He was definitely shivering because of the cold. He heard Leon and then Gawain. Arthur smiled as Elyan dropped down beside him, his face filled with concern.

“Sire?” Elyan asked. He had been shouting a moment ago but he spoke softly now. Arthur nodded his head in acknowledgement but he didn’t want to try speaking again. Elyan smiled at him in such obvious relief that Arthur felt his heart ache. 

Elyan bent to examine the iron ring and the chains. He looked at the manacles as well but only from a distance. Arthur had tucked his right hand protectively against his body and guarded it with the knife he still held. After his assessment Elyan started industriously searching the dead Saxon’s body for some means of opening the chains’ locks.

Percival had taken off his red Pendragon cloak and draped it around Arthur’s shoulders. It smelled like horses and sunshine. Arthur was immediately warmer and he was sure that the shaking was bound to stop any moment. Arthur could see Leon and Gawain now. They were stalking around peering into the portions of the cave that remained in darkness swords held at the ready. Arthur grinned. Of course he was in love with his knights. How could he not be? If Merlin thought that was grounds for ridicule then Merlin could go-. Arthur’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt. With an unbearable mix of caution and excitement, he turned to stare at the Saxon he had killed. The Saxon. The Saxon had been a sorcerer. Magic, always magic . . . .

Though he was mid-epiphany, Arthur was distracted by the sudden appearance of water. Percival had produced a canteen and was holding it up for him to drink. For a few moments nothing mattered but the water. It was taken away too soon but Arthur’s head felt clearer. The world seemed a little bit more real. 

Arthur was on the point of asking for another drink when someone called his name. In the next instant, Merlin stood before him, filling his vision. Arthur stared utterly uncertain as Merlin moved toward him- his face alight with joy. Arthur swallowed; he could do that now, thanks to the water. Merlin was right in front of him. 

“It wasn’t you?” Arthur asked in a whisper.

Merlin cocked his head to the side. He was still grinning but it was being tempered by concern. Then he raised his hand and his eyes turned gold. Arthur flinched. The manacles around his wrists and ankles fell away. 

“Arthur?” Merlin was coming closer. Arthur was suddenly fully aware of the knife still in his hand. He looked toward the Saxon again. The hours before were already beginning to distort and fade like a dream. Was that because he was waking up or was it because true memories were being destroyed? Everything in Merlin’s face, everything in his movements and posture was exactly Merlin. It had been that way before, too. Arthur needed to decide.

“It wasn’t you.” Arthur let the knife drop.


	10. Chapter 10

The cave was thick with magic. Merlin moved through it carefully, wary of every step. As Leon had directed Merlin stayed toward the back as the Knights silently made their way into the cave. As they moved forward Merlin found himself falling further behind. He felt like he was trudging through dense jungle but the knights did not seem hampered at all. Moving as quickly as he could, Merlin saw there was a light in the tunnel ahead. Arthur had to be close. Merlin began pushing back against the magic around him.

There was a sudden shout that broke off abruptly. The magic that had been so pervasive a moment before vanished. Merlin could not see what had happened but he assumed that the knights had been seen. He spun a dozen lights into existence about him and then sent them forward. With the extra illumination, Merlin could see clearly the tunnel ahead as it curved gently to the right before opening up into a central chamber. 

Leon shouted a battle cry as he and the other knights ran the final bit of distance into the main chamber. Merlin ran after them. He only made it a dozen steps before he became aware that the oppressive magic had not vanished completely. Though diminished, it still radiated out from the room ahead.

A man appeared out of nothing in front of Merlin. They stared at each for a moment, each as surprised as the other. The other man, Merlin assumed he was a Saxon, recovered and began murmuring a spell. Merlin blocked it without bothering with the words. The Saxon’s eyes widened in sudden fear and he began trying to edge around Merlin toward escape. 

“What have you done?” Merlin demanded as his magic seized the man by the throat and pressed him into the tunnel wall. The anxiety, frustration and finally fear of the last day and night came to the surface. Merlin just wanted Arthur back. That was all he wanted but he was afraid because he knew at least a part of what awaited him at the end of the corridor was magic, bad magic- evil. 

Merlin was so sick of finding magic inextricably tangled with cruelty and destruction. He had spent his personal integrity trying to convince those he cared most about in the world that there was no intrinsic corruption in magic, that it could be a source of good. He had defended magic and this was how he was answered. Merlin stalked closer to the sorcerer struggling feebly against the wall. “What have you done?” Merlin had had more than too much. He had no more patience with his fellow sorcerers and if they had hurt Arthur . . . 

Ahead, Leon called out Arthur’s name and Merlin turned away from the Saxon. He ran toward the central chamber. Behind him the Saxon slumped to the ground with his neck broken, forgotten.

“Arthur!” Merlin called as he came rushing forward. He came to a stumbling halt when he saw Arthur, leaning heavily against Percival and letting the big man hold a water skin to his lips. Relief made Merlin’s legs wobbly. He called Arthur’s name again and started moving toward him.

With each step more of the situation registered on Merlin. He took in the bruises that covered Arthur’s body. He saw the way Percival had wrapped his cloak around the King and he saw the chains. At that moment, Arthur looked up and saw Merlin. His eyes widened and then his gaze darted to the dead man lying a few feet away as though there was some connection between the two. When Arthur looked back at Merlin his lips moved but Merlin could not hear what he said. Merlin broke open the manacles around Arthur’s wrists and knelt down so that they were face-to-face.

“It wasn’t you.”

“Are you all right, Arthur?” Merlin asked softly. Now that he was so close Merlin could see that Arthur’s right hand had been damaged and that small shivers shook him. Merlin cursed himself for not bringing bandages and medicines with him. He had thought about it but he had decided that he was better off in a fight if he was not loaded down.

“Here, let me see.” Merlin reached for Arthur’s right hand. It seemed to be the worst injury. The bruises worried Merlin a little too, though. What had they done, beaten him with clubs? Merlin felt suddenly queasy when he realized that they may well have. He would see to the bruises soon. 

“Leave it.” Arthur pulled his hand away. His voice rasped as it faded in and out. 

“You’re hurt.” Merlin said superfluously. He wanted to reach for Arthur again, to touch him, just to be sure he was real but Leon had arrived and Arthur’s attention had switched to him.

“Leon, what’s going on? Are Gwen and the others . . . ?” Arthur asked, the trembling had subsided but his voice still sounded painful.

“Everyone if is fine, Sire. I will report but I think it prudent that we go now. There are other Saxons nearby and I don’t want to be trapped here if they come back.” Leon answered, looking around as though he expected Saxons to appear out of thin air. Though he would have liked time to evaluate Arthur’s injuries and to allow himself a moment to take in the fact that Arthur was here and mostly safe and . . . here, Merlin did not like the way the feel of magic still clung to this place and so he agreed with Leon.

Arthur nodded and Percival and Leon helped him to his feet. He clenched his teeth to hold in a groan as standing made him dizzy and irritated injuries he hadn’t been aware of. Arthur leaned heavily on Percival and Leon kept close to his other side. After a minute Arthur began to walk, Percival taking most of his weight. Merlin scurried ahead using an impromptu spell to sweep their path clear of stones. His magic was as eager as a puppy.

They stopped outside the cave and Arthur rested, staring up into bright blue sky, as Leon went through a very quick summary of all that had happened since Arthur had left the castle a day ago.

“Bedivere’s alive?” Arthur laughed with relief when Leon told him how they had found the knight valiantly trying to make his way back to them. Arthur’s genuine happiness at this news made Merlin smile. Merlin was still trying to take in the idea that Arthur was alive and safe. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had chance to tend to his injuries and talk with him and . . .. Merlin didn’t know what more convincing he needed but hearing Arthur laugh was close.

“Someone should follow the Saxons who left this morning.” Arthur said after Leon had finished his report. “We should know where they are.” Gawain volunteered to go and he took off toward where they had left the horses at a jog.

After a few more minutes’ rest and several sips of water, Arthur was ready to go further. They had left the horses a little more than a mile away and that would be where they would set up camp. It was slow going and they had to stop several times. Merlin who was increasingly eager to get Arthur settled, thought that they could move more quickly if Percival simply carried him. No one was going to suggest that though. Merlin suspected that the idea hadn’t even occurred to anyone else.

When they were still a hundred yards away, Merlin and Elyan hurried ahead of the others. Elyan worked to get a fire started and Merlin went through their supplies looking for anything that might be useful. Cabal was barking frantically as Arthur finally arrived and Elyan went over to calm her before untying her. Leon and Percival helped Arthur get situated near the fire with several of their packs at his back so that he could sit up without effort. 

Merlin went to work immediately. He did his best to clean and wrap Arthur’s hand. He washed away blood and dirt. He applied ointments and he started brewing an analgesic tea. Occasionally Arthur winced or grit his teeth but he had asked Leon to give a fuller report of yesterday. It distracted him- mostly.

All of Arthur’s things, from Excalibur to his boots, had been found placed neatly in the cave. It seemed odd to Merlin that nothing had been stolen but he was reluctant to question good fortune. Arthur had insisted on putting on his shirt the second Merlin had finished with his bandages. He had also wrapped Percival’s cloak tightly about himself so Merlin added more wood to the fire. 

Now Arthur was eating from a loaf of bread. He was using the tea Merlin had brewed to moisten it but he was managing fairly well one-handed. He had stopped letting Percival or Merlin help him. Merlin vacillated a moment and then decided to interpret that as a good sign. 

Elyan was out looking for some fresh meat to add to the stew that Percival had started and Leon was still talking. Once the First Knight had finished a painstakingly detailed report, Arthur had started asking questions about some of the knights newly arrived in Camelot and their training. Leon did not bat an eye as he launched into a recitation of the strengths and weaknesses of his students. Arthur listened attentively though Leon was not telling him anything he didn’t already know. 

For the most part, Merlin was satisfied that he had done all he could for Arthur’s injuries. Time was the thing that would help most now. It would just be a matter of trying to convince Arthur to rest and take things slowly for the next little while. 

There were still things that troubled Merlin, though. The first was that every once in a while Arthur would start trembling. The first few times Merlin didn’t think very much of it but now it had happened more than half a dozen times. It didn’t last long but Merlin found that he was increasingly disturbed by it. The other thing that upset Merlin was a mark on Arthur’s chest that looked very much like a burn except that it was black at the center. It wasn’t the injury itself, though Merlin had treated it very carefully and reminded himself to watch closely for infection it was that Merlin didn’t know and didn’t want to imagine how it had happened.

“We should start back to the castle as soon as Gawain returns. We ought to send someone to ride ahead and let everyone know that everything is all right.” Arthur spoke softly when Leon had paused for a moment to drink some water. Leon and Percival nodded their acceptance of this. Leon had just drawn breath to talk some more in response to an encouraging look from Arthur when Merlin interjected.

“What happened, Arthur? Do you know what the Saxons wanted?” Merlin had long seconds to wish he hadn’t said anything. He felt he needed to know and yet if Arthur didn’t want to talk about it . . . Merlin told himself that there had been strong magic involved in whatever had happened and so he needed to know so he could counter it with his own magic. He needed Arthur to tell him what was wrong so that he could fix it.

“I don’t know what they wanted.” Arthur answered finally. He paused then, considering. He looked at Merlin, Leon and Percival appraisingly before he went on. 

“After the ambush, they took me to the cave and one of the sorcerers did some magic and I woke up- or maybe I didn’t wake up- chained to the floor.” Arthur paused frequently to rest his voice and each time he did he regarded his audience carefully as though searching for something in their faces.

“One of the sorcerers came and talked to me- although maybe that was part of the spell because he talked about things he couldn’t know. He didn’t . . . look like a Saxon. That must have been the spell too. He looked like . . . .” Arthur stopped and frowned. Then he shrugged to himself and went on.

“Once in a while he would call up- well, I thought of it as white fire but that’s not right. Mostly he just talked, though. I think he meant to drive me to suicide.” Arthur said this with no particular inflection as though his audience was welcome to take this as a figure of speech if that was what they thought best. 

“Toward the end- right before you came- the spell must have been broken because I could see things I hadn’t been able to before.” Here Arthur looked at Merlin with raised eyebrows. Merlin shook his head. He didn’t think he had done anything unless his mere presence had disturbed the spell.

“I don’t know what they wanted.” Arthur repeated. “It seems pointless.”

“What did the sorcerer talk about, Sire?” Leon asked.

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “’Everyone you believe in is a liar.’ ‘Everything you care about will be destroyed.’ ‘Everything you do is futile.’ The sort of drivel you would expect.” Despite his flippant tone, it was clear to Leon, Percival and Merlin that Arthur was upset. As though to confirm this beyond any doubt a sudden bout of shivering struck Arthur. The King locked eyes with them all in turn as though daring anyone to comment even as he struggled defiantly to make himself be still.

When it was over, Arthur went on quickly as though he didn’t want there to be time to think about his trembling. “It was strange, the person who was talking, the Saxon . . . .” Arthur suddenly slowed down and he began to weigh each word carefully as though he were of two minds about what he was saying. “He looked like- I thought he was you, Merlin.”

“Me?” Merlin couldn’t believe he had heard properly. “You thought- you believed- me?”

“Sometimes I believed it and sometimes I didn’t.” Arthur answered truthfully. “I suppose that was a lot of the magic.” 

“It wasn’t me.” Merlin said in a small voice.

“I know. It wasn’t you. Without the magic, when I was myself again I knew it wasn’t you.” 

“I-“ Merlin broke off. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted the idea that he could hurt Arthur to be more than just impossible- he wanted it to be incoherent, like a square circle. But the idea wasn’t even impossible. If Arthur believed Merlin was capable of hurting him then surely that was only because Merlin had hurt him. If Merlin had been more honest, if he had trusted Arthur more, if he had been more careful about how he had used his magic then would even Saxon sorcery have been enough to convince Arthur that Merlin was against him? Merlin knew magic was stronger than will and stronger than belief and yet Merlin still felt that if he had never given Arthur a reason to mistrust him then Arthur would have been protected. 

Watching Merlin’s crestfallen expression Arthur wondered if he should have said anything at all. That would have been his natural preference but he didn’t want anyone thinking it had been worse than it was. Because it hadn’t been that bad, really. It certainly wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He’d had days of training that had left him worse off than he was now. He was fine.

Arthur had hoped to give as few details as he could get away with and then forget about it all- at least for a while. He didn’t want to give what happened more power than it deserved. Arthur didn’t want Merlin to be upset. He didn’t want Leon or Percival to get the idea he couldn’t distinguish between fantasy and reality. That was never a good thing no matter what excuse you had. Yes, Arthur would eventually have to come to terms with everything he had heard. He knew the things the fake Merlin had said were false but Arthur would have to think carefully about how and why they were false to get beyond them. Arthur had faith that he would figure it out. For the time being though Arthur considered that he would have done better just keeping quiet.

As Arthur couldn’t think of a way to retract or mitigate anything he had already confessed he decided to move beyond it. Arthur was seeking a way to divert the conversation before the silence could become awkward when a thought struck him. 

“Does Roderick’s sorceress know anything about Saxon magic?” Arthur asked Merlin pleased that he had found a natural transition to a more general topic.

Merlin didn’t answer. He just looked at Arthur as though the question had somehow wounded him. Before Arthur could puzzle out Merlin’s reaction, Percival remarked that gossip and rumors about the Saxons were rife throughout the castle and the town. Arthur gratefully took advantage of the opportunity offered and the conversation proceeded.

Elyan returned to camp soon after. He was carrying two rabbits and looking pleased with himself. His appearance was welcomed. Everyone was grateful to turn their attention to the prospect of food.

The slowly cooked stew was nearly ready when the sound of someone crashing through the brush broke through the peace of the camp. In an instant the knights were on their feet. Leon and Elyan had their swords drawn and they were moving in the direction the noise was coming from. 

A horseman crashed into camp coming dangerously close to the fire before managing to pull his horse up. Arthur who had been laboriously and with some help from Merlin coming to his feet gave up the effort with an exasperated exhale. Elyan relaxed and started to grin.

“Damn it, Gawain!” Leon snapped as he sheathed his sword and went to hold Gawain’s panting horse. “What are you thinking?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Gawain said impatiently dismounting his horse and coming around to look at Arthur. “The Saxons have a camp- more like a garrison. They have, maybe, two hundred and fifty? three hundred? men and at least half a dozen sorcerers.”

“Where?” Leon demanded. Percival and Merlin helped Arthur to his feet and he leaned heavily against them both as Gawain spoke.

“Several miles south- or at least they used to be. They’re on the march.” Gawain answered, eager to pass on his news as quickly as possible.

“Toward Dobhardhroim?”

“Yes.” Gawain answered his face grim.

“How can there be so many?” Elyan asked incredulously.

“And how long have they been there?” Percival added.

“It doesn’t matter.” Arthur answered his mind homing in on what was to be done. “Elyan, saddle a fresh horse. Gawain, you must get to the castle as fast as you can and warn them. How far- how f-“ Arthur coughed. His voice was still weak and when he was able to continue he forced himself to speak softly and more slowly. “How far are the Saxons from the castle?”

“I don’t know the terrain well enough to tell.” Gawain answered helplessly. “Several hours?”

“They’re all on foot?”

“Yes. They’re traveling as sort of a mob- no lines to speak of- that’s why it was so hard to count.”

Arthur nodded. “Leon, you’ll have to go too.”

“I-“ Leon clearly did not know how to answer. The situation was urgent but Gawain could deliver the warning. Arthur’s safety was Leon’s personal responsibility.

“We’re going to have to meet them, Leon. We can choose the ground if you hurry.”

“What about Roderick?” Leon asked.

“If he comes then that’s fine. If he doesn’t we’ll meet them without him. Either way you need to be there. You need to lead.” Arthur said seeking Leon’s gaze then holding it.

“There are too many of them.” Elyan objected.

“Even with all the men Roderick can muster there will still be too many Saxons.” Percival added.

“No.” Arthur said still holding Leon’s gaze.

“No.” Leon agreed lowering his eyes in submission. “A disciplined heavy cavalry against a disorganized infantry, we have a good chance.”

“We’ve got to get our people out of that castle, though.” Arthur continued. “We lose our advantage if we don’t have open ground.”

“The Saxons won’t be expecting us.” Gawain offered. He had finally caught his breath and was following the conversation intently. Elyan who had finished saddling Stanley for Gawain now turned to get Leon’s horse ready.

Arthur reached out for Leon, carefully extricating himself from Percival and Merlin’s support. He put his hand on Leon’s shoulder. “I need you to do this for me, Leon. You have to lead the men. We’ll join you as fast as we can but you’re not to worry about that. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sire.” Leon answered and he waited until he was sure that Arthur once more had Merlin’s support before he turned to help Elyan finish getting his horse ready.

“You should go to.” Arthur said quietly to Merlin. “The sorcerers change the odds. You’ll be needed.”

“Please don’t tell me to go.” Merlin knew that Arthur had a point but he didn’t think he could leave an injured Arthur in the middle of nowhere with who knew how many Saxons and disloyal Dobhardhroims lurking about.

Arthur turned a cool appraising eye on Merlin and Merlin managed not to fidget. Arthur did not tell Merlin to go with Leon.

In the next few minutes everything was set and Leon and Gawain were galloping north to Dobhardhroim with Arthur’s admonition to look after Gwen their only words of parting.

“We’ll follow as soon as we can.” Arthur reassured his three remaining companions as he allowed Percival to help him settle, pale-faced and trembling, back onto the ground.  
*  
“You know I can hear you grinding your teeth.” Arthur had probably intended to sound offhand and a bit superior but his voice was rough and weak. It barely carried to Merlin who was riding as close to Arthur as it was possible to do.

“You should try to save your strength.” Merlin reproved, unwilling to be drawn into Arthur’s attempt to sound careless. He was anxious and worried and frightened and- not to put too fine a point on it- he was angry.

Ahead Elyan, along with Cabal, had taken point and the man and dog had all their senses alert. Bringing up the rear, Percival divided his attention between watching Arthur’s progress and keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. The day was quiet and mild but the riders felt danger pulling at them like the undertow of the tides.

The group had started off less than an hour after Leon and Gawain had galloped away from their camp hell-bent on reaching Dobhardhroim castle as fast as humanly possible. The four men remaining had eaten quickly and then Arthur had insisted upon getting into his chainmail for the journey.

“You can’t fight.” Merlin had whispered in deference to the nearness of Elyan and Percival. He hadn’t wanted to argue with Arthur in front of the knights but he was determined that his King was in no condition for battle.

“I’m going to look as though I can.” Arthur had replied with such bullheaded stubbornness that it made Merlin determined to dig-in his own heels. In the next moment though, Arthur had turned intense blue eyes on Merlin and said, “Help me do this, Merlin. Please.” 

So, of course Merlin had fetched the heavy chainmail and bitten his tongue bloody to keep from saying anything as he watched Arthur’s face twist in pain as he struggled into the armor.

This dirty, underhanded trick of Arthur’s- this asking for what he wanted as though he was certain you would give in because he just knew you were going to rise to meet his expectations was essentially the same trick that Arthur had used on Leon but knowing that did not help Merlin resist. Arthur could have anything he wanted from him- from any of them- when his face turned solemn and he said something needed to be done, when he asked for help- when he seemed to say ‘I know you won’t let me down’. And people said that there was too much power in magic. Magic couldn’t touch the sort of power Arthur wielded, Merlin thought bitterly.

It didn’t help that Arthur was likely right. His people needed to see that Arthur was alive and well and that the Saxons had not broken him. Arthur needed to show Roderick and the Dobhardhroim and all Albion that he was undaunted and that- win or lose- he would be a part of this upcoming fight. Arthur needed to prove these things to himself as well. He desperately wanted a fight the terms of which he could understand. He needed to know that despite the dark magic that still clung to him like the sickly sweet scent of decay that he was still himself- that he still existed in the world he knew, that those he loved would follow where he led.

None of this kept Merlin from stewing because beyond his irritation and frustration that Arthur ought to be taking more care and going more slowly were stronger emotions that were more difficult to control. Merlin felt guilty that this had happened at all. His life had one overriding purpose which was to keep Arthur safe and Merlin had just failed spectacularly. He had failed so soon after he and Arthur had reconciled. He had told Arthur that he was such a great and powerful sorcerer- that he could help, that Arthur could trust him and then he had let this happen. And to top it all, magic had once again been shown to be the ready tool of evil men.

All of this roiled inside Merlin. He held it off with tetchiness but what Merlin most wished to avoid thinking about was that the magic that had been used to hurt Arthur had worn Merlin’s face. Merlin could think of no reason why that should be that didn’t make him feel sick. After all that they had been through, it was unendurable that Merlin- the thought of Merlin, the idea of him- had been the surest means to hurt Arthur. Merlin loved Arthur and yet Merlin had gotten so many things wrong. 

While Merlin stewed he became aware that Arthur was watching him with a slight furrow in his brow. There was a question in his look, a confusion in his eyes. Merlin felt foolish. This was not the time to brood. 

“I don’t grind my teeth.” He told Arthur in answer to the King’s earlier assertion. “You probably hear my stomach growling. You didn’t give us hardly any time to eat.”

Arthur’s face relaxed at Merlin’s tone of exaggerated complaint. “Skinny as you are, you shouldn’t tell people I don’t feed you. They’re likely to believe it.”

“I’m not skinny. I’m wiry.” Merlin returned with dignity.

Arthur laughed. It turned into a coughing fit and the group had to stop for several minutes while Arthur struggled through another bout of shivering. Yet, Merlin was suddenly fiercely glad. Arthur had laughed. Arthur had wanted to laugh and Merlin had been the one he had turned to.  
*  
From her vantage far back on one of the steeper more densely wooded hills, the glen looked peaceful. It probably was peaceful, Gwen thought, but the shadow of imminent violence hung over the green expanse lending it a surreal air.

“How far are they now?” Tension made Roderick’s voice high and tinny. Gwen was both grateful for the question and annoyed by it. She was grateful because it provided a distraction from her own thoughts but she was annoyed because Roderick’s constant fidgeting and nearly panicked tone increased Gwen’s own anxiety. Bedivere merely shrugged at Roderick’s question. He had had no more new information than Roderick since the last scouting report.

It had been little more than two hours since Leon and Gawain had come hurtling toward the column from the horizon. It had taken a few minutes before Gwen registered the news that a horde of Saxons was apparently bearing down on Dobhardhroim castle with only a comparative handful of knights in their way. This information had been obscured by the knowledge that Arthur was safe and in the hands of his protectors. 

As she thought back on her interrogation of Gawain- Leon had immediately sought out Bedivere and several of the calmer Dobhardhroim to begin planning- Gwen realized that the knight had not answered her questions about Arthur’s well-being as directly as he might have done. Gwen could not pursue the issue though because Gawain had been taken away soon after arriving on another scouting mission. Now Gwen tormented herself imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios that would still fit within the bare facts of what little Gawain had told her.

The Saxon army by contrast held much less interest for the Queen of Camelot even though she had managed to do exactly the right thing on that score. According to Leon the fact that Camelot’s forces were already gathered and on the march (along with several of Dobhardhroim’s knights) saved precious hours and made it possible for the defenders to plan an ambush of their own. Leon had acted as though she deserved credit for the advantage they now had but Gwen knew it had been a lucky accident and no more.

From Leon’s demeanor Gwen had understood immediately that they would fight. So, she had taken it in stride as the First Knight began asking the Dobhardhroim about the best place between their current position and the Saxons for mounted men to take on infantry. It had been a shock to Roderick however, that the plan could be anything but a swift retreat followed by as orderly an evacuation of the castle and town as could be arranged in haste. When it had become clear that his assumption was incorrect, he had alternated between anger and fear. At first, he would complain about Leon’s high-handedness but in the next instant he would plead with the knight that their best strategy was to run, bring warning to the castle and then escape as speedily as they were able.

Leon, who had no idea how to handle Roderick in this state, simply ignored him. Gwen had managed to rouse herself sufficiently by that point to try to reassure Roderick. She had told him that if Leon and Arthur had decided they were to fight it was because they could win. Roderick had needed a great deal of convincing. Saxons had been figures of nightmarish terror and menace his entire life. No one had ever succeeded against them. No one dared to try. They were outnumbered, terribly outnumbered. They would be mad to fight.

There were only about half a dozen Dobhardhroim knights in their party. Roderick and Fallon made eight. It was tempting to tell Roderick to take his people and do as he pleased. They had, of course, already sent a man to the castle to give warning in case the battle did not go well. 

Gwen persisted, though, in her gentle reassurances. There would be symbolic power in Roderick’s presence- not for the fight itself, but later on. When people told the story of this day, it was going to be important to say that the British represented a combined force. If Camelot won the victory by themselves then the argument for alliances would grow weaker.

“What are they doing?” Roderick’s question broke into Gwen’s thoughts and she turned her gaze in the direction Roderick had indicated. 

The majority of men were clustered higher up the hill and at some distance from the monarchs and their few attendants. There was just enough cover and they were so few that someone coming in through the glen could easily miss their presence entirely. Fallon and Meg were far behind the lines in a make-shift camp preparing to see to the injured. Edwina had insisted on staying at the Queen’s side. 

“They are going to try to get closer to where the Saxons will come in.” Bedivere answered. He, too, had turned at Roderick’s question to see about half a dozen men leading their horses away from the main body of their force.

“Why?” Roderick asked. The plan, as Leon had briefly explained, was that the knights would wait until the entire mass of the Saxon army had filed into the glen and then emerge from cover to form up in a staggered line. With lancers toward the front, the knights would then descend upon the Saxons with, as Leon had said, the force of a thrown stone through glass. It wasn’t clear how the men spreading out down the slope fit into that strategy.

“They’re going to try to put some bolts into the sorcerers before the Saxons realize we are here.” Bedivere answered practically.

“How will they find their targets among so many?” Roderick asked in the conversational equivalent of biting his nails.

“They’ll shoot at anyone not carrying a weapon.” Bedivere’s lips twisted into a sardonic grin and Gwen frowned. Leon would have been embarrassed by that answer, though it was the truthful one. Leon would have hemmed and hawed and stammered that ideally you would be able to see the sorcerer do magic before shooting but of course by then it would be too late- so their options were cruelly limited.

“What if it turns out that the unarmed men did not have magic or did not intend to use it offensively?” Gwen asked a little unfairly but she was irritated with Bedivere. 

“They are marching with an invading army. They are going to have to take their chances, my lady.” Bedivere replied utterly unmoved by the prospect. Bedivere’s equanimity did not entirely surprise Gwen. Despite all his passion for philosophy and worship of civilization Bedivere was entirely capable of ruthlessness. This wasn’t necessarily a contradiction, Gwen mused. After all, the Romans had been brutal when they needed to be, sometimes when they didn’t need to be.

In the next moment, though, Gwen relented. She had no right to be cross with Bedivere. Her only grievance was that the man had- by some decision making process to which Gwen had not been privy- been assigned to look after the Queen until the current danger had passed. Bedivere was very polite, courteous and deferential- more so than he usually was but it was understood that Gwen was not allowed out of Bedivere’s sight. More than that, Bedivere had- in a conversation that had not been an argument- let her know that it was just as well if she did not go to the make-shift hospital to help look after the wounded. 

Later in that conversation that still wasn’t an argument Gwen had wondered if it would be practical for her to go back in the direction from which Leon and Gawain had come so that she could meet Arthur. Bedivere said that it was not practical. For a moment, Gwen had imagined herself stamping her foot and putting her hands on her hips. She had seen herself insisting, demanding then yelling, asserting royal authority, pleading, threatening that she would have her way in this or else. The images were laughable. Gwen was not that person. She couldn’t be that person. Still it had not been so very much to ask. 

“They’re coming.” Roderick whispered, eyes fixed to the far side of the glen.

Gwen searched. For a little while she saw nothing. She was on the point of deciding that Roderick had let his nerves master his senses when she saw movement. As she continued to watch, men began walking in ones and twos- occasionally obscured by trees and brush- into the glen.

It was hard to make out details but Gwen did not doubt that these were Saxons. These were the fierce and fearsome warriors that terrorized the coast of Britain without challenge or hindrance. Could they be defeated now? The question had suddenly become very real to Gwen. She turned to Bedivere, wanting to know if he was afraid? The knight was leaning forward on the balls of his feet. He barely needed his stick since Fallon had murmured over his ankle and hands earlier that morning. His lips were pulled back in a snarling grin. No, he was not afraid. He was eager.

Gwen opened her mouth on the point of asking she knew not what- some request for reassurance thinly disguised as a question about strategy, perhaps. Before the words formed, however, she became aware of a commotion higher up the hill near where Leon had hidden their small force. She turned and once again the thought of Saxons fled to the back of her mind. She began running.

For a moment Gwen had only seen horseman clustering together and she had frowned because some of the knights had moved away from their positions. Then someone moved and her line of sight was unobstructed. Arthur was there and then he was gone again as the knights of Camelot pressed in.

As Gwen ran, Bedivere kept pace beside her. She had gone less than a dozen yards when Bedivere touched her arm, “my lady.”

Slowing into a walk, Gwen’s gaze focused on Arthur when he could be seen among the crowding knights. Arthur was speaking but Gwen could not hear what he was saying. Whatever it was he said the knights answered with laughter and smiles. Then they slowly began to drift back toward their lines, toward Leon who was waiting for them to reform, half anxious and half indulgent. 

Arthur, Merlin and Percival continued forward. Elyan, who Gwen had briefly glimpsed beside Arthur, had joined the knights prepared for battle. Gwen had thought for a terrifying moment that they would all take a place in the battle line but to her relief that did not seem to be the plan.

At that moment, Arthur looked up and saw her. He smiled at her, a lovely, perfect smile. Gwen stopped and smiled back. She waited with more patience than she would have credited herself with for him to cross the remaining distance between them.

When Arthur was only ten feet from her he drew rein. With a practiced, easy motion he started to dismount but somehow his balance was off. He staggered and he might have fallen except that Merlin was suddenly there beside him, steadying him. Gwen hadn’t noticed Merlin move he had been so quick.

“Hello,” Arthur greeted Gwen softly as soon as he was solidly on his feet with his equilibrium recovered. He extended his hand toward her. 

Gwen came forward and wrapped both arms around Arthur’s neck. She pressed her face against his mail-clad chest and hugged tightly. For several seconds, this was enough but then Gwen stepped back. She had become aware that Arthur was returning her embrace awkwardly.

“Arthur?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Hello, Gwen.” Arthur said again smiling down at her. This time, though, Gwen saw more than the smile. She saw that Arthur was pale and that his face was tight with strain. She saw that his right hand was heavily bandaged- how had she not noticed that until just now? She saw that Merlin hadn’t moved away, that he had kept a steadying hand on Arthur’s back and that Percival was watching carefully as though he expected to be needed in any moment. Then, Gwen felt more than saw a slight tremor run through Arthur’s body.

“Arthur?” Gwen reached for Arthur’s bandaged right hand, meaning to see what injury had been done. Arthur pulled away, though. 

“Not now.” Arthur said softly but urgently as he stared into Gwen’s eyes. “I see we’ve made it just in time.” Arthur said more loudly to Bedivere. Gwen had forgotten about Bedivere. She had forgotten about the Saxons, too.

“The show’s about to start.” Bedivere replied inclining his head toward the position that had been staked out for Guinevere and Roderick to observe from. Arthur nodded grimly but in the next moment he was smiling again. 

“I’m glad to see you’re alive. You had me worried for a while, Bedivere.” As Arthur spoke he reached out to clasp Bedivere by the shoulder.

“Ha!” Bedivere laughed, loud and booming. “I worried you?” With more gentleness than Gwen had shown, Bedivere returned the shoulder clasp. Then he said quietly- almost whispering, “Damn it, Arthur.” before quickly turning away to lead the way back.

“Is this all right?” Arthur had draped his left arm over Gwen’s shoulder as they walked slowly behind Bedivere and he was leaning somewhat heavily against her.

“Of course.” Gwen murmured. She had exchanged several looks with Merlin as though to ask the same thing but Merlin could only give her a non-committal shrug as he hovered close by. Gwen would have dearly loved to have a quick word with Merlin but there was no opportunity.

“Arthur,” Roderick spoke uncertainly as Arthur and Gwen came up beside him.

“Roderick,” Arthur answered with no particular inflection. There was nothing Arthur had to say to the Dobhardhroim King

While there might have been more Roderick felt he ought to say to Arthur he could find no words. To say, ‘I’m sorry’ would be to admit more responsibility than he felt but on the other hand Roderick was aware that the situation did not reflect well on him. The awkwardness of the meeting might have blossomed into something truly unbearable were it not that the valley below them had filled with Saxons.

With the Saxons so far away, it was hard for Gwen to feel appropriately intimidated by their numbers. The men moved through the glen with apparent slowness, the mass of them moving without any particular order or discipline so that it was hard to see them as a terrifying and remorseless enemy. Yet, each second that the horde crept further forward and nothing happened felt like a year off Gwen’s life. The anticipation had built to such a pitch that she felt her heart would beat out of her chest. Then, suddenly the Slow Saxon progression stopped. There was frantic movement but it was directionless. The men swirled and eddied like ants.

‘What is it? What has happened?” Gwen had thought that the break would come with Leon emerging at the crest of the hill along to- and Gwen could hardly have said why, too many tournaments perhaps- the sound of trumpets.

“The archers have taken their first targets.” Bedivere explained peering forward as though if only he could concentrate sufficiently then every detail of the action below would be made clear to him.

Before the Saxons could organize themselves to identify the source of this sudden attack, Leon did emerge at the crest of the hill- though there were no accompanying trumpets. Gwen had to turn her head in wide arcs as her gaze flew between Leon and the knights above and the Saxons below.

The moment the Saxons became aware of Leon they changed from ants to wasps. The random activity ceased and the invaders coalesced as though in a swarm. From her place Gwen could just catch the faint rumble of their angry shouts like thunder in the distance. The Saxons began running toward Leon, axes and clubs held high.

“They don’t lack for courage.” Percival murmured in awe as the Saxons charged uphill toward cavalry.

“No.” Bedivere was shaking his head vigorously. “They don’t understand what is going to happen.” He sounded so sure. Gwen bit her lip.

An instant later, Leon called his own charge and the ground shook as more than fifty heavily armored horsemen sped toward the enemy.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice was hoarse and urgent. “Merlin. Don’t let them- Can you keep the Saxons’ magic back. Don’t let their magic decide this.” Arthur had been struck by the sudden terror of the Saxon white fire raining down on his men. He saw Leon screaming, men violently thrown from their horses and fire burning everywhere.

Merlin had been standing by Arthur’s right shoulder keeping an unobtrusive but steady hand on his arm. When Merlin moved so that he could see Arthur’s face, Gwen felt Arthur’s balance falter for a second before he managed to compensate. Gwen planted her feet more firmly and tightened her hold on Arthur’s hand.

“I don’t know if I-“ Merlin was chewing his lip and anxious lines appeared on his forehead and around his eyes. “It might not- I can’t. . ..” Merlin stopped and let out a breath. “I’ll try.”

Arthur nodded. Just as Merlin had turned toward the men rushing at each other Arthur called him again. “Merlin, sword against sword and magic against magic, all right? Defend against their sorcery. That’s all. Nothing else.” As much as Arthur had been struck by the sudden fear of a Saxon magic none of his men could stand against he was now struck by the equally great fear that this contest would be reduced to a wizard’s duel. Somehow this fight couldn’t be decided by magic. It was important. Arthur could not say why exactly but it was vital.

Watching Merlin’s face, Gwen thought it was too much- Arthur was asking too much. It wasn’t fair. How was Merlin supposed to manage to protect so many people from unknown sorcery? How was he supposed to do that if he couldn’t be aggressive with his own magic? Surely, it was impossible to ask for such a thing to be done on such a scale and at such a distance. But Merlin merely nodded. The anxious lines on his forehead and around his eyes had smoothed over. Merlin had become focused, confident, predatory. His eyes did not become liquid flame as Gwen had sometimes witnessed but they grew dark and a little strange. 

There ought to have been a crash or a blinding flash of light or something dramatic and overwhelming as the two sides hurtling toward one another finally collided, Gwen thought. There wasn’t, though. Instead the Saxon mass bowed backward as the knights pierced their line. It was like a soap bubble, Gwen thought. The Saxons gave way around the knights, yielding back and to the sides and that was how Gwen saw the danger. If the bubble didn’t burst, if Leon did not push all the way through then he would be caught inside. He would be surrounded, smothered.

Time passed. A fly buzzed around Gwen’s head and she swatted it away. Then the first knight was past the last of the Saxons. After that they all came pouring through. There was emptiness in their wake where the Saxons had been cleaved apart.

About a hundred yards from the Saxons, the knights drew to a halt. The line of horsemen wheeled.

“Again, Leon.” Arthur whispered almost too quietly for Gwen to hear but it was as if Leon heard because even as Arthur spoke the knights charged again.

This time the Saxons did not answer with a charge of their own. This time they dug in their heels and braced for the attack.

The knights did not have the same momentum this time. They hit the Saxons at a slower pace. The horses, trained as rigorously as the men, trampled anyone in their way. The knights slashed and hacked to their right and left but they did not pause to engage the enemy. They kept pressing forward until they had once again emerged on the other side of the Saxon line.

“Ha!” Bedivere made a sound of defiant glee as the knights reformed.

“Was anyone unhorsed? Percival, can you tell?” Arthur demanded.

“I didn’t see anyone go down.” Percival answered as he stared intently at the field below.

“The horses? Can they do it again?” Roderick had one hand against a tree as though for support. His lieutenant stood beside him, his fists clenching and unclenching as though seeking for a sword hilt.

“Yes. They can do it again.” Arthur answered fiercely proud. Then in a different voice he said, “They really didn’t expect it. They didn’t think they would meet any resistance at all.”

Roderick flinched and glared at Arthur before quickly looking away. Arthur hadn’t meant it as a jab, though. Thoughts of Roderick and the making of snide comments thereto were so far from Arthur’s attention that it had not occurred to him that his words might be taken as criticism. “This is a disaster for them.”

The knights charged a third time and the Saxon line disintegrated before them. There was no longer an army of Saxons. There were only scattered warriors who could not prevail in one on one combat with a mounted knight.

There were still enough Saxons that they sometimes tried to engage the knights two or three on one but they had not been trained to work together and they hindered one another more than they helped.

“Why don’t they give up?” Percival asked as the fight became a rout.

“They don’t realize that would mean we’d have to stop killing them.” Bedivere answered ‘and thank god for that’ was the unspoken end to the sentence.

Arthur’s head swam. He was exhausted. His muscles shook with fatigue and the aftermath of the Saxons’ brutal magic. So much adrenaline had sluiced through his system that his nerves were drunk with it. He was fairly sure that if he let go of Gwen or she let go of him then he would topple over. That might even have been all right if it hadn’t been for the damn Dobhardhroims hovering.

But then, there were Arthur’s own men, too. Though they were his friends and they might forgive him a moment of weakness Arthur was loath to put that to the test. And finally there was Gwen’s friend, Edwina. Arthur had no strong feelings about the woman at all except that he was glad she was a friend to Gwen. She seemed nice enough but he couldn’t have guessed her hair color unless he was staring right at her. And even then he might need a moment. Nevertheless, he was aware of her, as he was aware of the others. They were the weight of his armor, the sway of the sword at his hip, the grip of the Pendragon ring which- thanks to the Saxons- he now wore awkwardly on his left hand. They were the warmth within him. Arthur knew what they wanted from him and their invisible observation would hold him upright for as long as it was possible.

It wasn’t pride precisely. It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to have one of his subjects see him fall on his face- he would go a fair ways out of his way to avoid that, but such a thing wouldn’t have been unendurable. No, what Arthur wouldn’t be able to stand was to take this victory away from his people. They would not worry about him while they should be celebrating. Arthur needed to be the leader his people needed him to be. That wasn’t a burden or a curse or the scar over some deep spiritual wound. That was just who he was.

“Bedivere?” There were things that needed to be done. Arthur had to make sure things were all right before he could rest. “As soon as the men are able to re-“

“There! There, do you see them?” Merlin broke in excitedly. He was pointing to an indeterminate spot across the valley. “They are trying to get away.” Merlin had been so intent upon the task of searching out magic on the field below that he had become entirely oblivious to his surroundings. Now, as his words were still tumbling over each other Merlin began to come back to a more conventional awareness.

“Who?” Arthur asked. He could see nothing but he didn’t feel particularly confident in his senses. It was true that some of the Saxons were running but the archers who had started the attack would regroup to take them down. Later they would send out patrols in case any slipped through- that was one of the things he needed to remind Leon about. Of course Leon knew, but it was so easy to forget amid chaos and excitement. And there was something else still not settled . . . Arthur’s mind groped for it but it eluded him.

“The sorcerers from the cave! There’s at least one, maybe others.” Merlin turned back to the field and squinted. “Yes, at least one from the cave and . . . . two? Three? others?”

“I can’t find them.” Percival said scanning methodically.

“They’re . . . hidden. They’re running. They’ll escape if they’re not stopped.” As intently as Merlin had been scouring the valley for any trace of magic he might have missed them as well had he not seen the same invisibility trick that morning. The distinct flavor of the invisibility magic had first caught his attention at the beginning of the battle but he could not think of anything he could do about it. All of his concentration was going to the search for more aggressive magic. Now though, with so few Saxons left Merlin was able to focus entirely on the invisibility spell. As he did so, Merlin made out the same magical trace that had been so pervasive in the cave and that still clung to Arthur. 

Arthur’s jaw tightened. He felt strangely uneasy but he couldn’t very well let Saxons of any kind, but Saxon sorcerers in particular, go free to roam the countryside. “Can you-“ Arthur stopped, uncertain how to formulate the question that would get him the answer he needed to know. “These men, they aren’t going to be able to hurt you?”

“No. They can’t hurt me.” Merlin answered and there was a faint hint of bitterness beneath his words that Arthur didn’t understand.

“Right. You’d better see to them then.”

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin inclined his head with strange formality before heading towards the horses at a run.

“Percival, go with him.” Arthur ordered. The world had started to spin. Arthur tightened his grip on Guinevere and then wincing a little he tried to ease his hold. He was going to hurt her if he wasn’t careful.

“Percival!” Arthur barked, anger lending him yet one more precious burst of energy. The big man hadn’t moved. Instead he looked at Arthur carefully- assessing. He had started to turn toward Gwen with questioning eyes but when Arthur called him again he stopped. Percival gave Arthur a slightly sheepish grin and then took off after Merlin.

Arthur’s indignation did not stay with him long. God, but he was tired. Bedivere had started talking and Arthur latched on to that. The knight was talking about sending a messenger back to the castle. Some of the victorious soldiers were already retiring from the field. This was a victory that all of Britain would celebrate- the first of many. Arthur reminded Bedivere that a patrol needed to be sent to the Saxons’ original camp in case any had been left behind. Arthur wasn’t sure if he could remember to tell Leon himself. Arthur fought to pay attention. He had just a little longer and then he could lie down- duty done. His eyes drooped closed- just for a second. It hadn’t been any time at all but when he opened them again Elyan had somehow taken Gwen’s place at his side.

Elyan, he was covered in mud up to his thighs. He was flushed and smiling. When had he come back from the battlefield? It didn’t matter. Arthur was glad not to be leaning on Gwen anymore. He needed to be mindful of how small she was. He shouldn’t be careless with her. Arthur always wanted to be gentle with Gwen . . . Gwen. . . 

Gwen was still with him. She had moved to his right side. She was holding his arm. Arthur tried to take her hand but- red hot pain! He had forgotten his right hand didn’t work anymore. That was going to be a nuisance. They were walking now. They bad been walking so long that it had become night. Wait. No, of course it hadn’t. Elyan and Gwen- they had been walking forever and ever- now they had all just walked inside a tent. That was all. Who had made the first tent? Who had been the first one to prop a hide over a couple sticks and thus keep the rain away? Clever, clever.

In the next moment, Arthur was finally, finally off his feet. He wanted to cry it was such a relief. Now if he could just get a sip- there was Elyan and there was water. Good old Elyan. Gwen was kneeling on the ground, taking his boots off. He wanted to tell her not to bother about that but somehow he couldn’t get his tongue organized quickly enough. It hurt as the leather pulled over his bandaged legs. Now Gwen and Elyan were working together to get Arthur out of his chain mail. Arthur tried to help them. Lifting his arms though sent screaming pain through his shoulder muscles. Everything seemed to catch against his injured hand and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The pain was waking him up though, restoring him to a more active understanding of the world. 

When he was finally out of the armor and gambeson, Arthur looked about himself. He was sitting on a campstool in a tent they had brought from Camelot. Daylight was streaming in from the open tent flaps. There was noise outside- the sound of people talking and moving about. Gwen was looking down at him. Her eyes had been drawn to the open collar of his shirt where she could see for the first time the blue and purple bruises mottling his skin. The edge of the bandage covering the place where Mer- no, not Merlin, the place where magic fire had burned him, was also just visible. 

Frowning Gwen reached toward him but Arthur caught her hand- only just remembering to use his left. Arthur smiled at Gwen, hoping to convey reassurance. It was suddenly important to Arthur that Gwen not fuss over him just then. She could fuss later. It would be welcome later. Right now, though, Arthur didn’t want her being sad over him. He had no idea how to say that though so he smiled at her, held her hand and hoped for her to understand.

After returning his smile in a way that gave Arthur hope that perhaps she did understand, Gwen asked, “Shall I have Elyan go and fetch Fallon?” 

Fallon. Of course that was the name. Arthur had known it sounded like a bird. “The wounded . . . when the wounded have been seen to.” Arthur agreed before an idea that had been pushing at him for a few minutes finally emerged into his consciousness. “Gwen, you ought to go . . . go and talk to Leon?”

“Why? What about?” Gwen was confused.

“About what’s happening. About what he’s doing. Talk to the Dobhardhroims, too. And the wounded. You should see the wounded.” There was more too. Arthur just couldn’t find words to make a proper list. 

“There’s nothing I can tell Leon.” Gwen was shaking her head. “This is the sort of thing he understands- better than I do. He’ll make sure that, that- I don’t even know what needs to be done. The wounded are being cared for. And the Dobhardhroims will keep. There’s nothing that can’t wait, Arthur.”

Arthur couldn’t answer because he needed all his focus to make his way toward the bedroll that someone had conveniently laid out. When he had finally made it- with more than a little help from Elyan- he tried to think back to what Gwen had said and what he ought to reply. It turned out to be futile. Arthur didn’t know how to tell Gwen why it was important that she go out and just . . . just be. Arthur didn’t even know if he knew why it was important but it ought to be done and ‘ought’ was an unanswerable force.

Perhaps though, there was power in the ought for Gwen as well because she began to relent even though Arthur had not pressed further. “I’m not really needed, of course. It won’t take long to see that. I’ll- I’ll get the tally of the wounded and see if there is anything I can do to help but I’ll be back soon. I’ll be right back.” Arthur could not conceal his smile.

“I won’t be a moment. Elyan will stay with you.” Gwen told Arthur gently and then looked up at her brother with a stern frown. The expression seemed somehow incomplete without an accompanying finger wag. Elyan sighed. In times of stress, Gwen tended to forget that he wasn’t a child anymore.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be right here.” Elyan reassured his sister. When she turned back to Arthur, Elyan stuck his tongue out at her. Arthur grinned.

“All right, then. I’ll be back soon.” Gwen said with a hint of confusion as though she weren’t entirely sure how her imminent departure had come about. Before getting up to go Gwen leaned down and kissed Arthur once on the lips and once on the forehead.

“Would you like something to eat, Sire?” Elyan asked once Gwen was gone.

Arthur shook his head no. Food would be too much work. “Tell me something, Elyan.”

“What?”

“Anything.”

In the middle of Elyan’s favorite story about growing up with Gwen there was a shuffling at the entrance to the tent. Elyan instantly went silent because while the story was his favorite it was not Gwen’s favorite. In fact the Queen had asked him earnestly several times to stop repeating it and it was only now Elyan remembered that he had promised her he would.

The figure who came in, happily for Elyan, was not Gwen. It was a woman though. Arthur had to think for a moment before he could place her as Roderick’s physician-enchantress.

“How many casualties?” Arthur demanded as soon as he recognized Fallon.

The enchantress had been walking toward Arthur but she paused at his question. “There were no deaths on our side.” She replied and resumed walking a little embarrassed to have paused. “One man broke his ankle after the battle and there were several slash wounds that will bear watching but no worse than that.”

Arthur released his breath slowly. They wouldn’t get so lucky on their next encounter of course and overconfidence was a danger. Yet to have no deaths, it was incredible.

“Queen Guinevere seemed certain that I would find you asleep, my lord.” Fallon said as she put down her bag of medicine and knelt by Arthur’s side.

Arthur could only shrug. The overwhelming sleepiness of earlier had left him. He was tired but he was too uncomfortable to find sleep readily. He was also plagued by the thought that there was something important that he was forgetting. Being still and listening to Elyan seemed to help the fatigue and the restlessness.

“May I?” Fallon indicated her medical bag.

“No magic.” Arthur said warily. He didn’t want to offend the physician. He was sure she knew her business but Arthur had had enough of sorcery. Merlin was one thing but Arthur didn’t know this woman.

“No magic.” Fallon agreed, inclining her head. Rummaging in her bag she produced a vial containing a clear liquid. Fallon was on the point of uncorking the vial and offering Arthur its contents when a thought struck her.

“This is, uh, not a magical potion. There was no emergent thaumaturgy after its preparation. There were, though, um, several ingredients that were magical in nature. It is quite effective to reduce pain. The next best thing isn’t nearly as good.” Fallon watched Arthur warily as she spoke. She had her weight balanced backward as though ready to leap away at a moment’s notice.

“Fine.” Arthur sighed. It was a nice distinction and logically it didn’t really hold up but Arthur figured that so long as everyone’s eyes stayed their proper color and objects didn’t start floating about on their own then it wasn’t worth arguing about. Fallon offered him the vial and he drank it.

Next, Fallon took Arthur’s right hand in both of her own. She unwrapped the bandages and hmmed over the swollen skin and dark bruising. In the end she just retied the bandages more tightly and turned her attention to the worst of the bruising. Her small hands pressed around Arthur’s stomach. It hurt but not so much that it merited commenting on.

Fallon left the bandage across Arthur’s chest until last. When she finally unwrapped the wound, she found a circular mark that was black at the center and then faded into angry red ridges and valleys. A clear liquid was collecting around the wound and then rolling off in little drops. Fallon swallowed audibly.

“Magic has caused this.” She announced her voice strained.

“I know it.” Arthur replied. In courtesy he refrained from adding, ‘I was there’. This wasn’t the first magically inflicted wound he had had and it was too much to hope that it would be the last. 

Startled by Arthur’s cavalier attitude, Fallon looked up and met his eyes. After a moment she nodded and then went to rummage in her bag. 

“Shouldn’t Merlin be here?” She asked as she hunted among her various potions and salves. “I mean, I think it would be helpful to consult with him, my lord.”

“Merlin is dealing with whatever remains of the Saxons’ magic.” Arthur replied with some pride. Then he saw that Fallon had stilled and she looked pale. “He’ll be all right. They can’t hurt him.” Arthur reassured. Merlin had promised that they couldn’t hurt him.

Fallon resumed her search without answering. Eventually, she found a jar with a brilliantly purple powder inside. She sprinkled this powder over the wound and then studied it intently. Arthur wondered what she thought might happen. Nothing happened and after several minutes Fallon rebandaged the wound.

“Well, I can’t see that there is anything amiss that can’t be cured with rest, my lord.” Fallon had taken on an air of brusque cheerfulness that reminded Arthur strongly of Gaius. “I- I would like to confer with Merlin but you should be fine.” 

“Good enough.” Arthur was pleased. He’d been telling himself the same thing but Fallon made it sound more convincing. “Thank you, my lady.”

Fallon colored, “I am not noble-born, my lord.” She spoke with aggrieved dignity.

“So?” Arthur hadn’t thought she was.

“So, I am not a lady, sire.”

“All right?” Arthur looked at Elyan in case he had any idea what the woman was talking about. The young knight was struggling not to giggle. Arthur sighed. There was no help there.

“I-“ Fallon paused and then seemed to change her mind. “If you have no objection, my lord, I would like to check the magically inflicted wound again tomorrow. I don’t believe there to be any danger but we would do well to keep an eye on it.”

“I would be very grateful.” Arthur replied graciously. Merlin would be back by then and so he wouldn’t have need of Fallon but he was genuinely appreciative of her help.

Nodding Fallon got to her feet. She was on the point of turning away but she paused. “The Saxons- I was not sure- This day will change everything for the people here. Thank you.” Fallon bowed formally and then hurried out before Arthur could tell her that he hadn’t done anything. Gwen and Leon and his knights and Merlin had done all the work. Besides this was just the beginning. If thing were really going to change it would be because of the resolve of the people here as much as anything else.

When Fallon was gone, Elyan sat beside Arthur again. He squeezed Arthur’s arm and gave him a blinding smile. Arthur had been tempted to be annoyed with Elyan for having a giggle fit when he could have used the man’s support but he couldn’t manage it. Of the many, many good things that had come of marrying Gwen, acquiring Elyan as a brother was not the least. It was good to have a brother . . .

“Elyan, remind Gwen to speak to Kay. If Merlin comes back before nightfall then she must speak to Kay.” Arthur gazed apprehensively to where the late afternoon daylight could be seen at the tent opening. This must have been the something he was forgetting. This was what had kept him on edge despite his tiredness. It was important to make sure everything was all right back in Camelot and to reassure Camelot that all was well here.

“Right.” Elyan agreed readily jumping to his feet. Arthur envied the easy movement. He couldn’t wait to have that back again. 

“Shall I bring back some food as well?” Elyan paused on his way out and turned inquiring eyes on Arthur.

Arthur considered. He felt better having drunk Fallon’s not-magic magic potion. It had also turned out to be a bigger relief than he would have expected when Fallon had confirmed that he was more or less all right. Arthur usually knew his own body. He understood the difference between pain that was dangerous and pain that was merely annoying. He knew what he was capable of and how far he could push himself. Magic though, turned all of that intuition on its head. Magic could make a man dance on broken legs or it could make a cat trip over its own feet. Arthur had thought he was mostly all right. He had hoped so. He had also been a little bit afraid that maybe he wasn’t.

“Yeah, food sounds good.”


	11. Chapter 11

From the start the noise was the worst of it. It wasn’t even accurate to call it noise. The ground shook. The thunderous vibration could be felt in Corbin’s chest like he was being shaken to pieces from the inside. 

At the first indication that there were enemies about, Corbin had pulled a concealment spell tightly about himself. He didn’t bother with much beyond that. The warriors would find and kill the few summerlanders who had the audacity to take shots at them. Corbin was too distracted by his medallion to pay much attention to anything else. 

The medallion throbbed and pulsed with power- so much power that Corbin couldn’t comprehend the entirety of it. Slowly at first but with a growing sense of possibility, Corbin wondered if the priestess might have been right after all. All that wild magic was blocked from him, though. It was trapped somehow, locked away and Corbin couldn’t break through whatever barrier kept it from him. 

Corbin never should have left the cave before the Sacrifice was complete. He knew better and yet the clan leader had grown impatient with the delay and he had forced Corbin to accompany him back to their main force. Corbin knew the foolishness of refusing to wait- it couldn’t have lasted more than an hour or two at the most. Then they could have begun their conquest of the Summerlands with the priestess’s prophecy fulfilled but Corbin was the Clan mage and it was not his place to delay the army’s march.

Even if Corbin had not been there to see it though, the Sacrifice should have been completed long since. It didn’t make sense. What had happened? The magic should be filling him, overwhelming him, but Corbin just stood before it, separated as though by unbreakable glass. Corbin blamed Whagil. He felt certain whatever had gone wrong was the man’s fault. Whagil was too comfortable with his expertise. He did not take the time to observe the proper forms. He did not always bother to thank the Sacrifice for the magic gained from his death. He did not care for the Sacrifice’s remains, returning to him all his possessions and chanting words of thanksgiving around his pyre. Corbin would punish the man for whatever omissions he’d made. He would teach Whagil to respect the suffering and death of their sources of magic. Before that though, Corbin needed to get to the power that felt so tantalizingly close.

It was with these thoughts in his head that Corbin first heard the noise. Startled he looked up at . . . For several seconds Corbin’s mind couldn’t parse what he was looking at. Armored beasts- horses, but not horses such as Corbin was familiar with- carrying men who were themselves completely covered in shining metal- were rushing down upon Corbin and his comrades.

At first, Corbin could only stare. He soon regained some semblance of composure though as the battle cries of the clan could finally be heard above the din of hoof beats. The men around him were running forward to meet this challenge and though Corbin did not run towards battle he mustered his faculties- regretfully abandoned his attack on the medallion- and began to draw upon his own powers.

The first spell Corbin cast was a fairly simple one. The ground was hard and rocky and Corbin directed his will to shaking loose some of the ground cover before the enemy charge. With luck one of the animals would be thrown off his balance and thousands of pounds of animal and man would lose footing at break neck speed.

It was a simple spell and yet it did not take hold. At first, Cornbin thought that the horses had either avoided the patches of instability or that they had muscled over them. So, frowning Corbin tried again. He sent his magic to make small dips and hills at distances he hoped would catch at the tender hooves and fragile legs of the horses. But none of the mounted men faltered.

Corbin had no chance to try again as the Summerlanders struck the clan. Corbin, though he was trailing the majority of his comrades, was still pushed backward by the sudden crush. Concealed as he was no one could make room for him even had they wanted to and Corbin found himself knocked to the ground.

For several terrifying seconds, Corbin struggled on his hands and knees trying to avoid being crushed by his own side. Finally he was able to crawl to a relatively open space and he scrambled to his feet and withdrew a ways further. He looked toward the enemy that had ridden all the way through the ranks of his clansmen and had now turned. They began a second charge. Corbin reached desperately for his magic. He found it reassuringly safe within him. He drew it forth. He would try a new spell. He would focus this time. He would be sure to do it right. He reached for fire.

Without a lot of power fire magic in a battle was mostly there to intimidate. It lost its heat too quickly but even though Corbin poured as much power as he had into the spell no scent of smoke distracted the battle tired horses; no burst of light blinded the oncoming men. 

In desperation Corbin tried the first spell he had ever learned. He summoned a tiny flame and held it on the tip of his finger. And there it was, a small flicker of light. Corbin’s knees went weak in relief. For a heartrending moment he had feared he had completely lost his power. That was foolish but his little spark of fire had calmed him. Pushing away his panic, Corbin realized that of course he still had his power. If he had lost it then his concealment spell wouldn’t have been working.

And the concealment spell was obviously working because though there was death and butchery all around him, Corbin was safe. Once again Corbin thought of his medallion. Whatever was wrong was surely tied to that and to the Sacrifice and to Whagil’s bungling of it. There was power in the medallion- more than enough to open up the earth and bury all these Summerlanders and their horses- but Corbin couldn’t get to it.

The chaos around Corbin had diminished. The sorcerer looked up to find himself almost alone. Bodies lay in piles and the few of his comrades who remained alive were running before the jubilant horsemen. There was nothing left here. Stumbling, Corbin turned away from the battlefield.

He had taken less than a dozen steps when he heard his name called. He whirled already murmuring words of attack but he saw nothing. Then his name was called again and Corbin concentrated. He looked sideways and saw through the concealment spell that one of his fellow sorcerers had drawn around himself and two others.

All three men looked dazed. One of the men was holding an arrow in one hand and his sleeve was torn and bloody but the blood was old. Corbin guessed some healing magic had been used. This was more evidence that whatever was wrong with their spellcasting was selective.

Anger burning away his shock, Corbin was certain that this disaster was the result of some mistake Whagil had made with the Sacrifice. Corbin turned, his face set in grim and determined lines, to return to the cave where he had left the Sacrifice. All three of his new companions scurried after him- not knowing what else there was to do.

Though it made for harder traveling, Corbin and his companions made their way along rocky or sloping ground. Despite their concealment spell the Summerlanders seemed to be everywhere so they did what they could to stay out of their way. They walked in silence. Unconsciously Corbin clutched at the medallion, scratched it with his nails. He bit at it with his teeth as he mentally beat against the barrier that separated him from the power he was growing increasingly desperate for. But the metal remained unmarked and the magic stayed locked away.

“Corbin!”

Corbin’s head jerked in response to his name. He turned to find the other sorcerer staring at two men- or perhaps a man and a boy- moving at a steady jog in their direction. Corbin turned away in irritation. They had already crossed paths with several Summerlanders but they were protected. They had come across a few clansmen as well but there was no way to be sure how far their concealment spell would stretch so they moved on.

“Corbin!” This time when his name was called Corbin hissed and swung around to yell at his companions but as he did so he suddenly understood the threat. The two Summerlanders weren’t just running in their general direction they were headed straight for them. More than that, the second figure, the one Corbin had thought might be a boy was not a boy. He might not have been a man either. Corbin saw something supernatural in the slender shape and beardless face of the creature coming towards him. He was an elf perhaps- one of the fair folk. Corbin saw the power in him- the terrible, magnificent power. It shone from him like the magic trapped in the medallion.

The elf’s companion had reached their little group. He cut through one man almost without noticing. Corbin heard his fellow sorcerer begin a death curse but the words froze in his throat. He was dead even as his last word could still alive in the air. 

Corbin was transfixed. In that instant Corbin knew two things. First he could see that the elf had come for the medallion- the magics called to each other. The elf could free the power locked in its cage. The second thing Corbin understood was that the elf would kill him.

Summoning all the power within him, Corbin held the medallion out at arm’s length. He would make one last attempt. He would try to push through once more just to experience the incredible power- the power that could nourish the world tree for the lifetime of the gods- before he died. The elf was moving toward Corbin but then he paused. A tiny voice in Corbin’s head- the part of him that watched from afar even as he lived each moment- told him that if he could break through to the medallion’s power then he would not die. The elf said something but Corbin did not understand. It sounded like a question. Was the elf afraid that Corbin might actually succeed? Corbin drew in his breath . . .  
*  
Merlin watched the second sorcerer tumble lifeless to the ground. In the last moment, the sorcerer had held something out to Merlin. It was something clearly magical and Merlin had found himself intrigued. Something felt familiar about the object. He had asked what it was but in the next moment the sorcerer had begun spell casting.

Now Merlin approached the body and bent down. For a few moments Merlin found himself in the unseemly position of prying an object from the still clutching fingers of a dead man. Soon enough he freed the object and he held it up to examine it. He took out the knife that he had picked up in the cave where they had rescued Arthur. He had picked up the knife on a whim almost without thinking about it but now when he held the two objects together he could feel that they were of a kind. The magic of the cave hung over them as a sickly sweet scent redolent of rot and decay. It was a temptation to destroy both the knife and the medallion as artifacts of evil magic but Merlin couldn’t do it. There was also something Arthurish about both objects. The presence of the Arthurishness troubled Merlin more than the evil magic.

“You all right, Merlin?” Percival asked from where he was cleaning the blood from his sword a few feet away.

“Yeah. You?” Merlin tied the medallion to his belt and stood up.

“Fine.” Percival surveyed the four dead men. He had been impressed with Merlin. Percival was the last person to understand magic but it seemed to him that Merlin had been so much quicker, so much more confident than his adversaries. Percival had fallen into the habit of thinking of Merlin as- not a physical coward as such but, well maybe just as rather more cautious of danger than might suit a professional fighter. This new Merlin- magic Merlin- charged in unhesitatingly. It was a good day’s work.

Taking their time Percival and Merlin picked their way back to where they had left the horses. They had abandoned the animals when Merlin’s mount stumbled. Upon examination the horse had thrown a shoe and so the two hunters hobbled their mounts and proceeded on foot. By that time if Percival squinted and concentrated he could also see their fleeing quarry. 

Merlin decided that it was just as well that they had not confronted the enemy on horseback. Merlin was at best an indifferent horseman and he hadn’t wanted to have to worry about rough terrain, a skittish horse, Saxon sorcerers and Percival all at the same time.

When they had almost reached their mounts, Percival abruptly stopped and put his hand heavily on Merlin’s shoulder. “You did the right thing back there, Merlin.”

“Yeah, I know.” Merlin answered a little uncertainly. Was someone suggesting that he hadn’t?

“Good. Good man.” Percival squeezed Merlin’s shoulder tighter and gave him a smile of grim approval before turning to his horse. They walked back to camp in companionable silence.

The nearer Merlin and Percival came to camp the more Merlin’s thoughts were given over to worry. The hunt for the Saxon sorcerers had been a distraction. Without them to occupy his mind, Merlin was left to wonder how Arthur was doing. The man had not been at his best when Merlin had left him and Merlin was eager to reassure himself that all was well. He had only just delivered his horse into the hands of one of the squires- who clucked sympathetically at the horse’s bruised foot, when Lady Edwina came rushing toward him.

“Merlin! I’ve been on the lookout for you. Gwen, the Queen, says you are to come as soon as you return.” Edwina had taken Merlin’s arm to hurry him but he resisted her.

“Why? What’s wrong? Arthur?” Merlin demanded, fear seizing him.

“Oh! No, sorry.” Edwina apologized. “His Majesty is resting. Mistress Fallon has been to see him. He just needs rest.” Edwina spoke the words as though she had said them many times to others and perhaps to herself as well.

“What, then?” Merlin was not entirely appeased. There was putting on a brave face and then there was lying and Merlin wasn’t sure which he was dealing with.

“Camelot. Kay. You have to help the Queen communicate with Camelot at nightfall or it will be the second day in a row that they have had no word.” Edwina explained looking up at the sky. Sundown was minutes away.

No thought of Camelot, Gaius or Kay had intruded into Merlin’s mind in the last twenty-four hours. At Edwina’s reminder he all but slapped his forehead. Resigned, he allowed himself to be led to the center of camp where Gwen was nodding gravely as she listened to Sir Tor. Upon seeing Merlin, however, Gwen dismissed the knight and gave Merlin a quick hug. 

“Merlin,” Gwen was tired and her shoulders drooped a little whenever she thought no one was looking but her smile was genuine. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” Merlin answered reassured by Gwen’s calm demeanor. “How are you doing?”

“Well enough,” Gwen shrugged. “Leon has sent a small force back to the Saxon camp. They haven’t come back yet. Of course, it’s too soon to expect them but- sorry.” Gwen broke off. “Everything is fine.”

“Arthur?” Merlin asked as Lamorack carried the bronze disk that would become their portal to Camelot.

“Last I was able to check on him Elyan was telling him about the chimney man.” Gwen’s expression relaxed into something soft and fond.

“The chimney man?” Merlin asked unsure that he had heard properly.

“It’s a story my father used to tell Elyan and me.” Gwen explained. “Fallon’s been to see him, too. She says that he’s all right- well, all right considering.” Gwen stopped and took a deep breath. She had managed to catch a few oblique glances at Arthur’s bruises and Fallon had described in clinical detail his various injuries.

“Did she say anything about the magic?” Merlin asked. It was the magic that was most worrying.

“No, but she would have done if there was anything to worry about. Right?”

Merlin was saved from having to speculate about that as the sun was disappearing beneath the horizon. He called his magic and the bronze surface shimmered.

As Merlin worked his magic, Gwen briefly considered ordering Sir Lamorak to call her away after five minutes. She quickly dismissed the idea as cowardice. She had news of a great victory to relay and even if she didn’t Kay answered to her not the other way around. She had no reason to feel anxious or guilty. Even so, Gwen couldn’t help but feel that she had a scolding in store- even if it was only delivered by means of anxious looks and worried questions.

It took longer than Merlin had hoped for Gwen and Kay to exchange their news. He found himself growing increasingly impatient as Kay seemed almost to be interrogating Gwen. Gwen, of course, was doing her best to focus on the good news but apparently Kay was less interested in the good news. The interview finally concluded with Gwen gently but firmly assuring Kay that they would speak again tomorrow and that matters were well in hand.

Almost before Kay’s disapproving countenance had faded completely from the bronze circle, Merlin was shifting his weight from foot to foot ready to leave. He said a quick goodbye to Gwen and she promised that she would follow in just a few minutes. Then, Merlin was finally free to see Arthur.

As eager as he had been to see Arthur, Merlin paused briefly outside the tent. It was full dark now and Merlin took a moment to appreciate the night. It had always seemed to Merlin that he had more freedom at night when the darkness colluded to keep his secrets. Now that he had no secrets or rather now that he had substantially fewer secrets the night still seemed to offer shelter.

Elyan was talking when Merlin finally entered the tent but he stopped as soon as he became aware of Merlin.

“There you are.” Arthur said in a mildly aggrieved tone from where he was propped up into a sitting position by blankets.

“Here I am.” Merlin answered.

“Are you all right then?” Elyan asked getting to his feet. His gaze switched between Arthur and Merlin.

“Thank you, Elyan. Get some sleep, all right.” Arthur answered. Elyan murmured his ‘good nights’ and clapped Merlin companionably on the shoulder as he left.

“Kay?” Arthur asked as Merlin walked around the tent picking up several empty plates that had been left on the ground. Merlin sighed at the lack of leftovers and gave Cabal a reproachful look. The dog had the audacity to lick her lips at him.

“Camelot’s fine. Kay gave Gwen a bit of an earful.” Merlin answered.

“Mmm. There’s some bread and cheese on the table.” Arthur replied absently. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. He shouldn’t take it out on Gwen. It’s hard for him to feel helpless. With his leg- he must feel trapped sometimes. And he still blames himself for . . . . Well, he shouldn’t take it out on Gwen.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows as he unwrapped the bread and cheese that had in fact been left on the table. Arthur didn’t usually talk like that about people. Merlin vaguely wondered what Kay blamed himself for but thinking about Kay meant thinking about what the dragon had done to Camelot and Merlin preferred not to do more of that than he had to.

Cabal came up to Merlin sniffing inquisitively. Merlin said ‘no’ even as he broke off a chunk of the bread to give to her. Then he sat down next to Arthur and took the opportunity to really look at him. Arthur looked tired though he seemed wakeful. Had he slept at all? Even with the lamp turned down low, his pupils seemed too large. Reflexively, Merlin reached out to check for fever but with unexpected quickness Arthur caught his wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.” Merlin felt his face heat and he tried to pull away but Arthur held his wrist.

“No, it’s not-“ Arthur gave up. The strength and immediacy of his own reaction to Merlin’s reaching out had surprised him. He didn’t want Merlin to feel as though he’d been rejected but it was just too much at the moment. Trying to convey this non-verbally, Arthur held Merlin’s wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Merlin began to nibble desultorily at his meal.

“So, did you find the sorcerers?” Arthur asked after a moment.

“Yeah. They’ve been sorted.”

“You’re not going to start feeling guilty on me, are you Merlin?” Arthur asked as Merlin picked at his food.

“Arthur, you know I’ve killed before. You know all the things I’ve done. Why do you think this would make me come over all squeamish? This is about as justified as it gets.” Merlin was confused. It had been one thing when Percival had implied Merlin might feel guilt over killing the sorcerers but surely Arthur knew better.

“It feels different when it becomes what people expect from you, when it becomes what they want from you.” Arthur said a little glumly.

“Well, I don’t feel guilty.” Merlin said honestly. He wasn’t necessarily proud of having killed but he wasn’t ashamed. Given circumstances Merlin didn’t see how the sorcerers could have been allowed to live.

“Good because you don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Merlin said with a little laugh.

“This wasn’t your fault, Merlin.” Arthur said very seriously. “You didn’t do this.”

“I might have, though.” Merlin tried to will himself to be quiet. He didn’t want to foist his emotional turmoil onto Arthur, not ever and certainly not now. “You thought I might have. You believe I’m capable of it. Maybe I am. I’m so sorry, Arthur. I’m sorry I wasn’t with you at the ambush, that I didn’t stop it. I’m sorry that magic used me to hurt you. I’m just . . . sorry.”

The days since Arthur had suddenly and still largely inexplicably decided to forgive Merlin had been profoundly happy. Things were finally on their proper track. Merlin didn’t have to hide who he truly was any more. And he was valued. He was valued but Merlin was sure it wasn’t just the magic. He was happy. He was happy the way a person is happy in his best memories. But this happiness was now and it stretched and grew and lived between the moments. It was tempting to look no further than the life he had now. 

Yet, from time to time, Merlin made himself think about all the years his magic had been secret. They had been good years, despite everything. He had been content. He had been happy- though his threshold for happiness had increased dramatically since his reconciliation with Arthur. 

Merlin had made mistakes, though. Well, who hadn’t? Arthur had certainly made more than his share. It was nearly miraculous that things had gone as well as they had given all their fumbling. Arthur’s mistakes, though, had largely been that he couldn’t decide who to trust among the manifold liars who surrounded him. Of course, Arthur had trusted them all by turns. He would have done better not to trust any of them, Merlin though a little bitterly. 

Merlin’s mistakes had been of a different category. Merlin was not a man to wallow in regret or lament things that could not be changed but he needed to understand better the mistakes that he hadn’t necessarily realized were mistakes. 

Merlin had prized the secret of his magic above almost everything else and in doing so he had sometimes appeared fiercely anti-magic. In doing so, he had left Morgana afraid and alone and easy prey for Morgause. In doing so, he had made sure Arthur only ever knew half the story about how people with magic behaved. For a number of important events in his life Merlin had deliberately kept Arthur from understanding what had really happened. 

In all their years together Merlin had waited for Arthur to realize that magic wasn’t evil, that those who used it could help Camelot. That was the prophecy and so Merlin had waited patiently. And while he waited patiently Merlin had also inadvertently made sure that Arthur was never allowed to see any evidence that magic could be used for good. In the end, Arthur had agreed to tolerate magic out of some combination of pragmatism, guilt over the innocents who had been caught in the struggle and a general unwillingness to brutalize his own people- even the magic ones. Could Merlin have genuinely changed Arthur’s mind if he had not tried so very hard to keep Arthur in ignorance? 

Merlin had always known that he was hurting Arthur. Obviously, no one liked being lied to. There was no plausible way that Arthur would not feel betrayed. Yet, Merlin had not had any inkling of the extent to which Arthur would be hurt. Merlin knew Arthur. He knew everything about him; his overbearing pride and his occasional moments of genuine humility. He knew how much Arthur wanted to do the right thing and how much of a torment it was when there wasn’t a right thing for him to do. Merlin knew that Arthur believed that honesty and loyalty were ultimately inseparable. Finally, Merlin knew that Arthur valued himself as a man who faced hard decisions. Merlin knew all that and yet he had not realized how much it would humiliate Arthur to have been tricked into taking credit for another’s actions. Merlin had not understood how much Arthur would blame himself for being deceived. Merlin had not guessed that Arthur would feel that he had been undermined at every turn. Merlin had not foreseen that Arthur would see in Merlin’s confession helplessness and despair.

Merlin had somehow missed the big picture. He had not noticed as the cumulative weight of all his secrets distorted everything around him. The yawning gap between intention and consequence mocked him. How could Merlin have misjudged so much the difference between the harm he had been- however regretfully- willing to inflict and the harm he had actually inflicted? It scared Merlin because he had always thought evil was something a person chose. He had always assumed that when he came up to a line he couldn’t uncross he would have some kind of warning. But, there hadn’t been a warning.

“Merlin,” Arthur was physically and emotionally exhausted but sympathy for Merlin pushed through that. Merlin was so very dear to him, so dear that it was better not to think about it most of the time. Seeing Merlin in pain though made Arthur want to reach out to him; to explain that everything was all right and that he didn’t have be afraid of himself. Arthur understood. He really did. Arthur found he couldn’t reach for Merlin though- at least not physically. Somehow he lacked the strength. “You must understand what your magic makes you capable of. But just because you have the power to do- to do terrible things that doesn’t mean you’ll do them.”

“Yeah.” Merlin answered almost angrily. He didn’t want to do this. Arthur had enough to worry about without having to hear the ramblings of Merlin’s bewildered conscience and yet Merlin couldn’t stifle the flow of words. “Yeah, I know I can do awful things but I never would. I never would! Except that I have. Except that I might again. I’m so scared, Arthur. I can’t see beyond the need of the moment and in the moment I can justify anything.” 

Merlin sat miserably with his shoulders slumped and his hands lying helplessly in his lap, the picture of despair.

“You’re not going to transform into some sort of evil sorcerer, Merlin. You’re not going to go mad and turn into Nimue or Sigan or Morgause. . . or Morgana. I’m not afraid of you. I- I was for a while. But, I’m not now. You’re not like them.” 

“How do you know? How can you be sure?” Merlin was desperate for reassurance. How could Arthur trust him when Merlin wasn’t sure he could trust himself? It broke his heart that Arthur had been afraid of him- however briefly- and yet wasn’t the real mystery that Arthur had somehow overcome his fear?

“There is a very real and completely satisfying answer to that question.” Arthur said. “It’s just . . .” Arthur rubbed at the skin between his eyes and along the bridge of his nose. “I just can’t quite put the last pieces together. My mind is a jumble right now. So . . . you are just going to have to trust me.” 

“You’ve been wanting to say that, haven’t you?” Merlin’s laugh came out as a surprised sigh.

“Yeah, I have.” Arthur conceded with a grin before growing serious again. “On balance Merlin, we’ve done very well here. This trip has been successful beyond what we could have hoped. This,” Arthur gestured to his chest and bandaged right hand. “Isn’t anything, really. No permanent harm done. Your friend said I was all right and I don’t want you or anyone else to worry over it. I’m perfectly fine and you haven’t done anything wrong- quite the contrary.”

It took Merlin several seconds to realize who Arthur was referring to as ‘your friend’. He did need to talk to Fallon about the magical portion of the attack but the enchantress had indicated that Arthur’s prognosis was good. Even so, Merlin couldn’t help worrying. Arthur was resilient but dark magic had been used on him and Merlin felt the remnants clutching at him.

“Yeah?” There was a hint of challenge in Merlin’s tone but it was a friendly challenge- a challenge that wanted to be overcome.

“Yes.” Arthur answered imperiously. He was ready to win an argument.

“Really? Have you slept since we came back? Have you tried?” Merlin asked gently. It had not escaped Merlin’s notice that Arthur, who was usually comfortable with silence, had seemed to need almost constant conversation from his companions.

Arthur tilted his chin. Merlin could almost hear the familiar dismissive drawl but Arthur paused suddenly and looked confused. “I needed to be sure you were back first, that we’re all right.” 

Arthur hadn’t known that that was what had been missing until he spoke the words but as soon as he did so his face took on a belligerent expression as though daring Merlin to make something of it.

“Well, I’m here now and we’re all right.” Merlin said neutrally and not as was his instinct with fond pleasure.

“Right. Well, maybe if you shut up for two seconds then I will sleep.” Arthur’s tone was filled with defensive annoyance. 

“All right, deal.” Merlin agreed smiling. He didn’t mind letting Arthur win if it made him happy.  
*  
Stars twinkled brightly in the clear night sky. They seemed to cluster into shapes and Gawain amused himself by imagining pictures and then simple stories. This was Camelot sky and Gawain had discovered with an unlooked for pang that he was happy to be going home.

It was no obstacle to his happiness that Gawain was returning home with pockets filled with gold. The gold all but guaranteed the knight a warm- and in certain quarters affectionate- welcome and Gawain was eager to share the wealth. He had earned it, after all. 

Once the battle with the Saxons had ended, Gawain, Leon and several others had investigated the invaders’ camp. There they found the year’s tribute that the Dobhardhroim had dutifully yielded as per the treaty with the Saxons. With the official tribute the camp also held plunder from the coastal villages including several women who had been kidnapped. Gawain grimaced. It had been a pleasure to dispatch the half dozen men who had been left on guard.

The presence of such a large amount of gold had had the potential to be the first test in the newly forged alliance between Dobhardhroim and Camelot. The gold may have originally belonged to the Dobhardhroims but it had been stolen or in some cases given up. The knights of Camelot had won it back and it was thus the knights of Camelot who deserved the reward. This was only logic and yet alternative points of view persisted. 

In the end Camelot took ten per cent and left the remaining sum to the Dobhardhroims. The division allowed Camelot to appear generous without appearing soft. It also allowed Dobhardhroim to appear grateful without appearing to have exchanged one extortionate master for another. So it was that Gawain as well as everyone else who had set out on this expedition including Meg and the squires currently found themselves with unexpected wealth.

Gawain had wanted to begin spending immediately but the Dobhardhroims would not take money from him or any of his companions. The knights of Camelot were feted by the local citizenry throughout the remainder of their stay. Food, drink, women and music were available in abundance as the populace seemed to come alive with proof of a victory over the Saxons. So while Bedivere, Leon and Gwen went about the business of planning next year’s campaign Gawain drank and sang. It had been all a man could want from an adventure, a bit of danger, a decisive victory over overwhelming odds followed by unstinting adulation. Gawain could not have been happier except that- once in a while- it would occur to him that despite their victory there was still unsettled business. The Saxons had earned more than a single beating and Gawain felt a driving itch to see that they got all that was coming to them.

Stifling a yawn, Gawain turned his neck and rolled his shoulders. The watch had just begun and the sky had not been fully dark for long but he was already ready for sleep. Gawain gave a rueful smile. There was a time not so very long ago when anyone seeking a bed purely for the purposes of sleep on the near side of midnight would have aroused nothing but disdainful pity from Gawain. It was a funny old world, really.

Glancing across the landscape, Gawain was brought up short by the sudden appearance of a figure less than a dozen yards away.

“Oi! Whoa there, mate!” Gawain called out drawing his sword. The terrain was open and Gawain had chosen a good vantage point for his watch but the man had seemed to appear from nowhere.

In answer to Gawain’s startled challenge the figure paused and moved his hands away from his body in a peaceful gesture. Gawain quickly recovered from his surprise and carefully took stock. With his sword still leveled at the stranger Gawain’s gaze swept the landscape but found it empty. Satisfied that there was no one else, Gawain turned his full attention to the stranger.

He was a big man- tall and broad. Gawain could tell just how well-muscled the stranger was because he was naked from the waist up. This omission gave Gawain a moment’s pause before taking in the rest of the man’s foreign-looking attire. There was a long strip of cloth wound around his head and he wore wide, loose fitting trousers that were secured around his waist with a sash. A long curved blade hung from the sash and it drew Gawain’s eye as moonlight glinted on its surface. In all, the effect was one of menace.

“What’s your business?” Gawain demanded. He had regained his composure but he still held his sword at the ready.

“I bring a message.” The man intoned. His voice was a deep rumble that matched exactly what Gawain would have guessed that he sounded like.

After the stranger spoke the silence stretched. Gawain raised his eyebrows in invitation but the man remained quiet. “And who is this message from? Who is it for?” Gawain finally prompted.

“I bring a message.” The man repeated.

“Come on, is it really going to be like that?” Gawain asked reprovingly 

“I bring a-“

“All right. Fine.” Gawain gave up. “Come along.” He gestured with his sword for the stranger to lead the way toward the main camp. After a few steps, Gawain sheathed his sword.

The night was young and there was still activity among the small groups of men sprawled outside their tents chatting around low burning fires. As Gawain and the stranger approached the conversation quieted and the men’s demeanor changed into something catlike, both cautious and curious.

“Will you take my watch?” Gawain asked the first knight to catch his eye. Sir Tor nodded and got up without complaint to lope toward the periphery of camp.

Gawain scanned the camp for Leon and then gestured the stranger towards him. When they were standing face-to-face Gawain could see that the stranger was as tall as Leon but broader. He could see the stranger better now in the light from campfires and his face was scarred and weather beaten. Marks on his chest and arms which Gawain had initially thought were just body hair turned out to be tattoos and there was no hair on the man’s arms or chest at all that Gawain could see.

“He says he brings a message.” Gawain informed the First Knight helpfully. Leon gazed at the stranger for a few seconds before giving a slight nod. Leon then turned and made his way towards the King’s tent and then disappeared from view.

“Right.” Gawain said refusing to feel awkward. “I’m Gawain. What are you called?”

“Messenger.” The man answered.

“All right.” Gawain replied gamely. “No judgment here.”

Silence.

“I couldn’t fetch you a blanket or anything?” Gawain asked. “You know, in case you’re getting chilly.” Gawain gestured toward the man’s torso. Messenger did not reply.

Gawain was just considering where he might take the conversation from here when Leon emerged and beckoned them. 

Gawain entered the tent after Messenger and positioned himself where Messenger couldn’t see him without having to turn around. Leon took up a similar position. Arthur sat at the far end of the tent. A table had been set up beside him and it was covered with papers. Guinevere stood at Arthur’s left shoulder, so close that her hip brushed his arm. A little bit further away, Merlin stood at Arthur’s right shoulder. Somehow the image of the three of them- together like that- tugged at something inside Gawain. It made him feel a kind of wistfulness that made no sense to him.

The spell was broken in the next moment as Arthur leaned forward to speak. “I am Arthur Pendragon. I have been told you have a message.”

Messenger bent forward slightly then straightened. “I have been sent by Alator of the Catha. He invites Lord Emrys to join him at his camp. He has collected news of the Druid gathering and- for the sake of magic- he would share what he has learned.”

“I am grateful for all efforts made on Camelot’s behalf.” Arthur answered courteously. “Where shall I send Camelot’s representative?”

“Tomorrow morning I shall escort . . . Camelot’s representative to meet with my master.” Messenger replied.

“Well, that’s settled then.” Arthur spoke in obvious dismissal. “Leon, would you please see that this man is provided for this evening?”

“Yes, Sire.” Leon was already at Messenger’s elbow pressing him back. Gawain moved to stand at Leon’s side to help the knight chivy Messenger along.

They were all nearly out of the tent when Gawain heard Arthur call his name. Surprised, Gawain turned. “Stay a moment.” The king commanded. Confused but curious, Gawain waited patiently as Leon and Messenger left the tent. 

“So, I’m off to visit the Druids, I suppose?” Merlin asked after a short silence.

“I had forgotten about the Druids.” Guinevere said glumly leaning back against one of the tent posts.

“Are you up for it, Merlin?” Arthur asked. “It sounds like Alator wants you. But that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily going to get you.”

“I should go.” Merlin answered. “I don’t know that Alator would be willing to talk with anyone else. He trusts me.”

Arthur nodded but his expression was bleak. “Gareth hasn’t reported having any luck.”

“But, we haven’t had a message in a long time.” Gwen countered. “I’d really rather we didn’t need Alator.” 

“We do, though. Don’t we? And there isn’t anyone else with my qualifications.”

Arthur nodded but his expression remained pensive. 

“Right then. I have to go.” Merlin asserted and there was quiet for a moment as the decision hung heavily in the air. Gawain had felt awkward and out of place during the conversation and now he felt awkward and out of place during the silence. He hoped Arthur would remember what he wanted him for already so he could go back into the cool night air.

“I’m going to go say good night to Edwina.” Gwen finally said straightening up. She squeezed Arthur’s shoulder as she passed him and smiled warmly at Merlin. Gawain stood aside and held the tent flap open for her and received a smile of his own for the effort.

“Merlin, give us a moment.” Arthur asked when the Queen was gone. Gawain saw surprise, then hurt flash across Merlin’s face before being quickly replaced by his usual imperturbable good humor.

“Of course,” Merlin murmured, putting down the polishing rag he had just picked up. He looked around a moment before his eye struck an empty canteen. “I’ll just go and get some fresh water.”

As Merlin left the tent Gawain offered him a smile of helpless apology. Gawain certainly hadn’t asked for this exclusive meeting. 

“Come, sit.” Arthur commanded when Merlin was gone, indicating the camp stool across the table from him. As Arthur gestured, Gawain was forced to notice the bandage that still wrapped the King’s hand. 

The injuries Arthur had received from the Saxons had healed quickly- magically so. Still, bones didn’t mend overnight and in the training sessions Arthur insisted on participating in, he mostly sparred left-handed. The sight of the bandage made Gawain suddenly, irrationally angry.

“You didn’t have to send Merlin away. You can’t possibly have anything to say to me that he couldn’t hear.” Gawain sniped as he took the seat indicated.

For a second Arthur regarded Gawain with raised eyebrows. “What do you understand of Camelot’s relationship with the Druids?” Arthur asked and Gawain heard as clearly as though Arthur had said it in words. ‘I’m going to do you a favor and pretend I didn’t witness your little fit of petulance.’ Gawain ground his teeth but managed to focus his attention on the words spoken aloud.

“It’s precarious. We want peace and they probably do, too. But they don’t trust us and we’re not sure how far it is safe to trust them.”

“You’ve been paying attention.” Arthur sounded pleasantly surprised.

Gawain shrugged. “Not really. Isn’t that just how it is with everyone?”

“I suppose that’s fair enough.” Arthur acknowledged ruefully before going on. “And you know how it is with Merlin’s magic.”

“No.” Gawain didn’t know where Arthur was going with this but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anywhere he wanted to be.

“The Druids know Merlin. They respect him. He is marked among them by the strength of his magic- for what he has done and for what he may do but they don’t call him by the name we know him by.”

Gawain fidgeted.

“You know how it is with Merlin’s magic?” Arthur repeated.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.” Gawain admitted grudgingly because he wanted to stop Arthur talking. Gawain knew but he didn’t want it to be any more concrete than it had to be. Yes, Gawain had finally- without any clear moment of revelation- twigged that Merlin was Emrys. His dear, forthright and caring friend; his own beloved Merlin was the sinister old man who could and who had tossed Gawain about with as much effort and as much care as a ragdoll. 

Emrys had stood at the center of such a high stakes game of power and deceit that Gawain- a gambler and a rogue at heart- felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what had been thrown into the hazard. Emrys possessed power on a scale that made him profoundly other. There could be nothing human in a power that so exceeded the capacity of other human beings. Emrys was on their side but that was like having a giant or a dragon on your side. It might be impressive on the battlefield but it was inevitable that some of your own were going to get stomped or charred. Then, of course there was the question of what to do with the creature after the battle. What could you do but send it out of the way somewhere and hope to god it didn’t get bored?

Yes, Gawain knew Merlin was Emrys. He knew it the way he knew he should drink less and the way he knew he wouldn’t. He knew it the way he knew his parents had been unhappy together. He knew it like he knew that he ought to try and be a better person. He knew it but it was all right as long as he didn’t think about it. For all practical purposes Merlin and Emrys were different people and why look beyond the practical? Merlin was Merlin and as long as that was true then it would be all right. 

“Why talk about this?” Gawain demanded angrily.

“I need to know that you understand. It’s easy to make poor decisions when you don’t know what your friends are capable of.” Arthur deliberately kept all emotion out of his voice. It still hurt. How Arthur had systematically done the wrong thing over and over again because he hadn’t known, because he hadn’t figured it out, it still hurt. It hurt less than it had but it still hurt. “Also I want you to go with Merlin tomorrow and it may come up.”

“Why?” Gawain asked genuinely puzzled. “What use could I be with Druids? Isn’t this sort of thing Merlin’s .. . ” Gawain sought a word but not finding it he finished lamely, “thing. Don’t sorcerers like to work alone?”

“Are you joking? Do you think I would send Merlin alone out into the wilderness with someone who doesn’t even have enough sense to put on a shirt? I mean honestly who does he think he is going to impress?” Arthur was genuinely indignant.

Gawain understood perfectly. “It’s just so silly. It’s a plea for attention. If he wants people to notice him he would do better to work on his conversation skills.” 

Arthur nodded. “And it’s impractical. There’s the cold in winter and sunburn in summer. No matter how pleased he is with his looks he ought to have thought it through.”

“Best keep him away from Percival or there will be no end of trouble.” Gawain warned with a shake of his head.

Arthur barked a sharp ‘ha’ of laughter and the two men stared across from each other in complete accord for once. The companionable silence stretched for a few moments before Arthur returned to the matter at hand.

“Merlin ought to have someone with him he can trust, Gawain. The Druids understand magic. They understand more about what Merlin can do than maybe Merlin knows himself. They aren’t going to underestimate his power so we’re going to need all the advantages we can get.” Arthur explained.

“So, you’re giving them someone to underestimate?” Gawain asked. His mood had improved greatly. The knowledge that Merlin was Emrys was once again safely in the periphery where it wouldn’t cause trouble.

“If you like.” Arthur replied. “Don’t misunderstand, though. This is Merlin’s mission. He’s in charge. You’re not going to have a problem with that, are you?”

“You think I would?” Gawain asked insulted. Gawain had understood many of Merlin’s strengths long before Arthur had. How dare Arthur think Gawain would be too proud to take orders from Merlin? 

Seeing Gawain’s anger, Arthur shrugged. “I think it changes things even when you’re sure it won’t. Some friendships can’t endure it. You’d do better to think about whether yours can before rather than after.”

This gave Gawain pause. He presumed Arthur knew of where he spoke and he spared a second’s pity for the King. Only a second’s though because the world might be generous enough to permit a man to be anything he could wish but not everything he could wish and for Arthur- Gawain thought- the world had already stretched its generosity to its furthest possible limit.

“It ought to be all right since it’s only a few days.” Gawain said. His earlier indignation had given way to something more thoughtful. He really didn’t want the nature of his relationship with Merlin to change. Of course there was no good reason why it would change. Except that Gawain couldn’t help himself. Sometimes when someone said ‘do this’ or even ‘please do this’ then Gawain had to say ‘make me.’ Then, whether Merlin made him or not, the relationship was changed. “Just so long as Merlin doesn’t go mad with power or anything.”

There was a second’s pause in which Arthur’s face went blank as different emotions struggled for dominance and Gawain realized what he had said.

“Yeah, all right, not the best choice of phrase . . .” Gawain murmured as much to himself as Arthur.

Before any more could be said Merlin slipped back into the tent. He had meant- not to sneak- but to move unobtrusively. This goal was thwarted, however, when his foot caught on the edge of the rug and he stumbled nearly dropping the canteen he had gone out to refill before finally managing to right himself.

When Merlin was once more steady on his feet he looked at Arthur and Gawain. Both of whom were staring at him with indecipherable expressions. “Should I come back later or is it all right if I just put my hands over my ears?” He said a little peevishly. He felt self-conscious and he hadn’t liked being sent away.

Arthur and Gawain spoke at the same time. Arthur said, “As you prefer.” And Gawain said, “Are you sure your hands are big enough for the job.”

“Nice. Is this how it’s going to be whenever you two conspire?” Merlin was feeling a little better. If they were teasing him then whatever it was they were talking about couldn’t have been that bad.

“Gawain will be going with you tomorrow.” Arthur announced as Merlin moved to put the full canteen back in its corner.

Hesitation flashed briefly in Merlin’s eyes but then he smiled. “I’ll be glad of the company. I don’t think Shirtless is much of a talker.”

“Good. You know the Druids best, Merlin, so Gawain will follow your lead.” Arthur said briskly. Then he glanced at Gawain and almost against his will he added. “Don’t let the power go to your head.”

There was a second’s silence and then someone started to laugh. Then all three of them were laughing, bodies shaking with wracking spasms of laughter. Gawain was bent double and he was only keeping himself upright by clutching Merlin’s arm. Arthur’s laughter came in short uncontrollable bursts that were interspersed with brief moments when Arthur would try to calm down before another fit of laughter would take over. Merlin laughed, too. He clutched at Gawain who was clutching at him and laughed with them because wasn’t it just funny. And wasn’t it wonderful that Arthur and Gawain really understood and they still thought it was funny. 

There was a time not so long ago that Arthur might have said much the same thing while only getting half the joke. Merlin might have laughed then, too, but it would have been ironic laughter, unhappy and lonely because back then it wouldn’t have been funny at all. It would have been a reminder to Merlin that he had succeeded in deceiving Arthur. That was what he had wanted- to hide so thoroughly that Arthur would never so much as guess that Merlin was anything but what he appeared. But Merlin had also desperately wanted Arthur to know him. He had wanted Arthur to recognize his lies and thus understand that Merlin really could be trusted. For so long insults had had to serve as endearments. No one was meant to be certain what was sarcasm and what was genuine emotion. Merlin could make endless jokes in that world. He could even laugh. He had to because in that absurd world things meant the opposite of what they seemed. 

It was better this way, Merlin thought as he dragged in deep breaths and tried to keep Gawain from pulling him completely off-balance. It was much better this way.


	12. Chapter 12

There was silence throughout the Druid camp. Though more than twenty people wandered among the tents, doing various chores or merely sitting in small circles no sound of human voice could be heard. This quiet soothed the men and women who Followed the Way and it unnerved outsiders. Despite the silence the camp was alive with conversation but it was the conversation of those who had always felt safest hiding away from others. The conversations were private and only those who Followed the Way were included. 

One such silent conversation was now occurring between Alator and Messenger. Messenger was still a mile or so away but he was near enough that Alator could listen to his report. The Catha avidly took in all the details of Messenger’s encounter with the Camelot camp.

Lord Emrys was on his way. The mission had been a success. Lord Emrys would arrive very soon and Alator felt a tingle of anticipation. He had learned a great deal since he had first encountered a skinny boy deep in the rocky earth and discovered that that boy was destined to change the shape of the world. In the intervening years, Alator had learned everything he could about Emrys- or Merlin as he was called by the outsiders. He had studied many prophecies but more than that he had studied the man himself.

A cloud of dust in the distance was the first visual confirmation that Alator had of Emrys’s eminent arrival and he began a soft chant to focus his concentration. Alator had gained a good but still imperfect understanding of the power of Lord Emrys’s magic and the nature of his character. Alator had discovered through divination coupled with the simple expedient of asking discrete questions much of how Emrys had used magic in Camelot. The feats the man had accomplished and the ways he had found to accomplish them had left Alator in awe.

“Welcome, my lord.” Alator greeted with an inclined head as Emrys finally arrived. Men came forward to take charge of the horses. To Messenger Alator spoke silently. ‘His companion does not look quite the clown that you described.’ ‘Wait until he opens his mouth.’ Messenger silently replied before bowing to Alator and retreating to await his next mission.

“Thanks.” Emrys acknowledged Alator’s greeting. Alator had spoken aloud to his guest because one of the things he had learned about the great sorcerer was that despite his many accomplishments there were profound gaps in his knowledge. Alator wasn’t certain Emrys was fluent in mind speech and he did not want to make him uncomfortable. “This is Gawain.” Emrys introduced gesturing to his companion.

Gawain raised a hand and said, “Hi”. He was grinning widely. Alator sent Messenger a silent apology. He should have known better than to question Messenger’s reported perception. That was the man’s purpose after all.

“Thank you for this, Alator.” Emrys spoke again. “We need to know as much as we can learn about the Druids and the Mór Cruinniú. We all want peace. We all want Magic to return to the land in a way that can be safe for everyone.” Emrys had started to smile as he spoke and he was beaming by the time he finished. 

Alator observed Emrys’s demeanor carefully. He was different now from when they had last met. His power lay nearer the surface. He was happier too. Alator wondered what accounted for this change. He would have like to believe that it had something to do with being free from the dark menace that was Camelot or perhaps it was simply the prospect of finally being among his own kind. This was not likely to be the case though. Alator had studied ‘Merlin’ carefully.

“Then come with me, my lord, and I will tell you what I know.” Alator returned Emrys’s smile gladly.

Alator spoke for hours. His voice grew hoarse and as he downed cup after cup of water he took a moment to be annoyed with the limitations of the physical. He had to begin from the start and leave out many details for Lord Emrys knew so little of proper history and their time was short. Though it was not stricitly to their purpose, Alator could not help but begin with what the Catha taught about the origin of the Druids and their purpose.

‘In the beginning, the world belonged completely to the natural order and men were no better than animals. In time, the gods took pity on men and built a Path through the world that would lead to the gods themselves and the gods created people who could see the Path- or at least parts of the path- and lead the others to the gods. This was how magic came into the world. 

The guides the gods created were three times three times three in number and each guide taught what part he knew of the Path. Each guide acquired followers. These became the twenty-seven Druid clans. The gods were generous and made further gifts of prophecy so that more might learn of the Path and so that men might check their progress. 

The gods kept the Way clear where they could and cast a powerful magic to keep blind nature from altering or bending it away from its proper course. Those who followed close to the Path were under divine protection. Their gifts and their faith made them greater than other men who languished bound to Nature’s harsh law.

Men followed the Way gratefully. Those who wished to stray were either cast out or convinced of their error depending on the decision of their clan. Some of those cast out tried to create a new Way and they used the magic the gods had gifted them with to follow their own course. These people were to be pitied but still they were closer to the gods than those with no magic of their own. Those bereft of magic of their own could only hope to find the Way through the guidance of the clans.

Such was the gods’ munificence and such was the dedication and diligence of the tribes that men hoped to see the end of the Path within their own lifetime. 

Then the Romans came. 

The Romans knew nothing of the Path and they hacked at the world, building cities so that the Way became obscured. They made alliance with Nature’s law thinking that would make them strong. 

The Druids knew the tyranny of Nature’s law and the freedom of magic and they tried to help the Romans discover the Path. But, the Romans hated the Druids because the Druids had been so blessed and were so free and the Romans were shackled to their Cities. In their jealousy the Romans made war on the Druids. When the last invader departed Albion’s shores seven clans had forever lost the Path.

After the Romans, the faithful but weakened Druids re-dedicated themselves to the Way. They came to believe that the Romans had come as a means of testing their commitment to the Path and that they had failed. The Druids had allowed themselves to be drawn into the false concerns of the world and had thus been punished.

Though clans remained it was not as simple as it had been. The Druids continued to see themselves as divided into clans but the real situation was that each Druid belonged to various overlapping fiefdoms based on kinship, magical power and affinity as well as political orientation. Before the Druids could truly take stock of themselves Uther Pendragon came. 

Fearful of being drawn into another war, the Druids fled and hid. They studied the prophecies, guarded their special knowledge and they waited. Time passed and when Uther died five more clans were gone.’

After that Alator got into specifics. 

He told Emrys what he knew of each of the remaining Druid clans- their skills, motivations and trustworthiness. When the time came the decisions about the Druids’ future would be made by those who stood at the heart of the Mór Cruinniú and those men and women would be selected by a complicated process having to do with their strength, wisdom and magical affinity as well as by the endorsement of the Druids of their clans. Alator himself had been selected to speak for the Catha.

By Alator’s reckoning, of the fifteen remaining clans three wanted peace with Camelot and the rest of Albion. Three wanted to fight and win enough power to protect themselves, enough power to convince those too blind to see to follow the Path and enough power to gain a measure of revenge. Three wanted to retreat further from the world and its threatening distractions and the remaining six were undecided.

Lord Emrys asked if the three belligerent clans were in league with Morgana. Alator replied that that was not necessarily so. Lady Morgana had magic and had been gifted with prophecy. Thus, though she was not a Druid she was esteemed by many clans. At the same time other clans saw her as only another war-mongering Pendragon. Morgana’s admirers were not all of the same mind about Morgana’s place on the Path.

Lord Emrys had many other questions. The questions often exposed Emrys’s ignorance and naiveté. Alator did his best not to be disappointed. After all, Lord Emrys was young and though he might be ignorant it was hardly his fault. As Alator dutifully went about answering the questions though, he began to notice that buried beneath the requests for repetition and irrelevancies there were some genuinely insightful questions.

Alator struggled to be objective about his observations. There was always the chance that he was seeing only what he wanted to see. But, everything Alator had learned of Emrys since their first meeting indicated subtle intelligence. It would take a remarkable man, one with a cool head and steely nerves, to hide as much power as Emrys possessed in the heart of the enemy’s territory- in the heart of the enemy’s home. Alator could not allow himself to be such a fool as to be drawn in by appearances. Emrys would always be more than what he seemed.

There was even something vaguely mysterious about the lackey who had accompanied Lord Emrys. Clearly the man was a prattling jackanapes but there was something more as well. Alator knew when someone was concealing something. He was too well versed in his tribe’s affinities not to have a talent for recognizing discrepancies. He would have liked to have the chance to root through his mind and lay bare all that was hidden. Alator realized, however, that Emrys might object. Besides, Emrys’s lackey had no magic so what could his secrets really be worth.  
*  
Names and relationships, history and legends sloshed around in Merlin’s over full head. Alator had talked for hours and hours- far into the night- before Merlin had pleaded that he would never be able to remember anything more. Mercifully Alator relented. Merlin and Gawain were then escorted by one of Alator’s companions to a tent for the remainder of the night. Merlin stumbled in ready to sleep where he fell.

“How’re you doing, mate?” Gawain asked as he dropped heavily onto his bedroll and pulled off his boots.

“Too much!” Merlin moaned kicking off his own shoes. “I’ll never keep it all straight. I’m glad you’re here. Maybe between the two of us we’ll be able to remember something.”

“Me? Was I supposed to be paying attention?” Gawain enjoyed the expression of horror on Merlin’s face for several seconds before giving in. “I’m joking, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed and turned his face into the pillow. He really was glad Gawain had come. At first, he had been hesitant. To the Druids Merlin was Emrys and Merlin wasn’t sure Gawain wanted any part of that. It wasn’t that Gawain didn’t know about Emrys. Gawain could deal with Emrys. Gawain could also deal with Merlin but dealing with both at the same time was too much. 

Merlin couldn’t blame his friend for this. Merlin could have trouble reconciling the two parts of himself as well. Gawain had been his usual laid back self, though, and now Merlin was very happy not to be alone.

“I didn’t expect Alator’s information to be quite so detailed.” Merlin complained. He wasn’t sure what he had expected but it had not been the litany of endless facts that had been offered. It made sense of course, it was all politics. But even though it made sense Merlin was still surprised. He had expected that Alator’s information would be magic words or a spell or some fragment of prophecy or directions to some talisman that would carry enough symbolic power to cut through the politics.

“It’s not so bad.” Gawain responded. “At least everyone seems to need something or be afraid of something. We can work with that.” It would overstate the matter to say Gawain had enjoyed the long afternoon and evening but he had understood more than he thought he would. Gawain had thought that the Druids in general and the Catha in particular came off as quite full of themselves at points but Gawain didn’t take this too much to heart. Alator’s story was no more or less self-aggrandizing than any of a dozen other origin myths. In a way it was kind of endearing how universal the need to feel special and unique was. 

Self-flattery and internecine politics were perfectly fine subjects as far as Gawain was concerned. If the talk had been all about magic, Gawain would have been unable to understand a thing and as much he told himself that he didn’t care Gawain didn’t like to feel useless.

Merlin mumbled something that Gawain didn’t catch and when the knight asked the sorcerer to repeat himself he saw that Merlin had fallen fast asleep.

The next morning, Merlin was the first to wake. He roused Gawain, ate breakfast and quickly packed up their few belongings while his companion staggered about slow and wool-headed. Merlin was itching to be on his way and he had to draw upon inner-reserves of patience not to tap his foot while Gawain struggled into his boots and splashed water on his face.

“We’ll just go find Alator and thank him for his hospitality and then we’ll be on our way.” Merlin said as Gawain finally, finally stuck his sword through his belt and then looked up as though uncertain what came next. 

Gawain was worse than Arthur in the morning. Much worse because Arthur could be fully alert the moment he opened his eyes if he had a reason to be. He just liked slow mornings. Gawain, though, really was miserable just after waking up. Dissolute living, Merlin would say later. At the moment though it seemed unkind to kick a man when he was down.

As it turned out, it was not necessary to go and find Alator because he was waiting for them as they exited their tent.

“Good morning, my lord.” Alator greeted politely.

“Good morning, Alator.” Merlin replied trying to hide the fact that he had been caught somewhat off-guard. He had been working on a courteous farewell but now the words had gotten mixed up in his head and he felt awkward.

“Mmm.” Gawain said, though he meant ‘good morning’. Merlin smiled and clapped Gawain on the back and gave Alator a look that requested his indulgence. Merlin suddenly felt a little guilty for his haste. Alator had done exactly as he had promised. It couldn’t have been easy to gather so much intelligence in such a short amount of time. Merlin was suddenly struck by a terrible thought.

“Alator, how did you learn so much about the other Druid tribes? You didn’t . . .” Merlin broke off and looked at Alator pleadingly.

“My lord?” Alator raised his thick eyebrows, uncertain what Merlin was asking.

“You didn’t- you didn’t hurt anyone did you?” Merlin felt his insides twist.

“My understanding was that you disapproved of those methods.”

“Yes, yes. I do.” Merlin pushed back against the tide of relief that threatened to wash through him. He had to be sure. “So, you didn’t then?”

“There are many ways to obtain information, my lord.” Alator said.

“Right, there are. So, you used some of those other ways?”

“Yes, my lord.” Alator answered with a tiny smile that made Merlin think that it was just possible Alator had been having a little fun.

“Good, of course. Well, I am certainly grateful for what you’ve done. I’m sure Arthur will be able to speak persuasively at the gathering. Thank you.” Merlin said recovering from his scare.

Alator inclined his head to Acknowledge Merlin’s thanks. “My lord, before you leave there is someone who would like to speak to you.”

“Yes?” Merlin asked curiously. “Who?”

“The leader of the amhrán.”

Merlin interrogated his memory for what Alator had said about the amhrán the day before. There hadn’t been very much. “They are the bards, right? The storytellers? Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“She was not certain if she wished to meet with you and she asked that I not mention her presence until she had decided.” Alator said smoothly.

“And now she has?”

“Now she has.” Alator confirmed. “Will you come with me?”

Merlin nodded but just as he was taking his first step Alator stopped. “She only wishes to see you, my lord. Your companion will have to wait.”

“You think so do you?” Gawain challenged his formerly sleepy expression hardening into obstinacy.

“I do.” Alator replied with apparent amusement.

There was silence for a moment before Merlin put a hand on Gawain’s arm and said quietly, “I should see this woman.”

“Merlin-“ Gawain wanted to hold his ground.

“It will be all right.” Merlin reassured before turning back to Alator. The Catha inclined his head then turned away. Merlin followed and Gawain, jaw clenched tight, stayed where he was.

In Alator’s exhaustive summary of the history and politics of the Druids he had had comparatively little to say about the amhrán. Alator had numbered them among the tribes that were as yet undecided about what course to take. That meant that Merlin had an opportunity to persuade another tribe that peace and an active alliance with Camelot was in all of the Druids’ interest.

While he was aware that it was good fortune to have this chance Merlin also wished he had had more warning. He had not expected to have to make an argument- not that he couldn’t. It was a mystery to him how anyone could reasonably entertain another option besides peace but at the same time Merlin thought that Arthur should be the one to talk to the Druids. Arthur was the one they were going to have to trust. Arthur was the one they would trust. Merlin understood the grand vision. He could see Albion united and at peace. He could see magic valued for the good it could do while the evil was held firmly in check. Merlin wasn’t so sure about the specifics but he didn’t need to be. Merlin was the sorcerer. Arthur was the king.

Long before Merlin could discipline his scattered thoughts Alator stopped at the edge of a circle that had been marked with a dozen stones. Alator stepped aside and gestured Merlin forward. Merlin studied the scene warily. There was a fire in the middle of the circle with several pots hanging over it. An old woman with long white hair sat by the fire. She was doing something but it was obscured by the fire.

The circle was spelled somehow, Merlin knew. He couldn’t determine the nature of the spell though and he was extremely reluctant to pass the stone boundary. Merlin looked to Alator but the Catha just watched impassively. Coming to a decision, Merlin squared his shoulders and stepped boldly into the circle.

He felt a feather light touch as he entered the circle. It was just a breath of magic, a subtle warding. It had obscured the space within the circle and now Merlin could see the woman more clearly. She was making tea. Merlin shook his head at the power of his own suspicion. If he, the Druids’ own Emrys, had hesitated to walk across a ward line how much harder would it be for someone who had always feared magic.

“Would you like some?” The old woman had come to her feet. She was holding a steaming cup that she now extended toward Merlin. “There’s honey in it.”

“Thanks.” Merlin took the cup and, determined to make up for his earlier reluctance, took a sip.

“So, you’re Emrys. Or do you prefer Merlin?” The old woman had her own cup and she had taken a seat by the fire. She patted the place next to her in invitation.

“Emrys is fine.” Merlin replied sitting, a little awkwardly, where indicated.

“But you prefer Merlin.” The old woman answered in a conspiratorial voice.

Merlin nodded a little sheepishly.

“I understand.” The old woman patted Merlin’s knee. “My name is Scáthán Damhsóir but I’d rather be called Daisy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Daisy.” Merlin said smiling. Daisy patted his knee again.

“There is so much power in a name. Not magically speaking- though there is that, too- but in the ordinary course of things. A name sets expectations. A name makes promises- sometimes threats. A name is what we choose to show the world. Sometimes what we want the world to see is something simple and familiar; a hard-working servant.” Daisy looked Merlin up and down taking in the rough cloth of his trousers that were thin at the knee and the frayed cuffs of his shirt. “Or a frail old woman. We are safer and therefore stronger if we show the world a bird or a flower, hmm?”

“I think my mother just liked the way ‘Merlin’ sounded.” Merlin offered tentatively. He felt Daisy was making too much of something that didn’t mean that much. Merlin also felt an urge to point out that a merlin was still a bird of prey and it wasn’t as though he was called Robin or Sparrow but Merlin didn’t like to argue with an old lady.

“Exactly right.” Daisy agreed with a twinkle in her eye. “Now, don’t take it amiss, Merlin, but I don’t have a seer’s gift and I never had the knack to take the measure of a person’s magic just by looking. Could you do a little something for me? Just so I can see.”

It seemed a reasonable request. Merlin couldn’t tell about a person’s magic just by looking either- usually he couldn’t. Merlin looked around. The water Daisy had used to make their tea was still boiling on the fire. Merlin waved his hands and his eyes changed.

A wisp of smoke spun and coalesced into a figure- a knight in chain mail. At the same time a wisp of steam transformed into the figure of a woman with flowers in her hair. The knight took the lady’s hand and they began to dance. They whirled between the sparks and skipped lightly above the flames. 

“Well, I like that. I really do but I had something a bit more difficult in mind.” Daisy said as the dancing couple dissolved to vapor.

“What would you like to see?” Merlin blushed self-consciously. Of course he couldn’t impress a Druid leader with something showy but simple. It impressed people without magic no end but to anyone with real skill such a display must appear frivolous.

Daisy proceeded to give Merlin a series of tasks. She gave him a closed box and asked him to rearrange the contents. She shattered a clay cup and asked him to rebuild it. She asked him to freeze water and then trap a flame in the ice. Merlin did as he was told, eager to redeem himself. Nothing gave him any difficulty until the last task. Daisy asked him to tie a knot in a silk cord so it was exactly the same as another knot she showed him. The first time he tried the knot didn’t look like anything but a tangle. On the second attempt, the silk tore in the air and Daisy had to find another one because neither sorcerer seemed able to repair it. Frustrated, Merlin tried a third time. Abandoning any attempt at finesse he shoved power at the silk until something, some invisible barrier seemed to break and the knotted cord lay neatly on the ground alongside its twin.

“Well done.” Daisy’s voice was oddly flat as she congratulated him.

“Is it enough?” Merlin had done more than he had thought he would need to. He wanted to get back to Gawain. He wanted to get back to the others and deliver all the information Alator had given him.

“It’s enough.” Daisy answered her voice still flat.

“Daisy,” Merlin had proved his power but he wasn’t sure what that had earned him. “There can be peace, an end to hiding.”

“A truce with Arthur Pendragon?” Daisy asked.

“An alliance, a partnership.” Merlin replied.

“Tell me about him.” Daisy said suddenly. 

“Who?”

“Arthur Pendragon.” Daisy smiled at Merlin’s confusion.

“Oh.” Merlin thought for a few minutes. What did Daisy need to hear to make the right decision? Merlin could talk about destiny and prophecy. There was a part of him that was drawn toward the mystical and ineffable. He didn’t need to describe or explain Arthur. In some very important ways he couldn’t. Yet, Daisy did not seem like the sort of woman who would passively submit to prophecy unless it was something she already wanted to do. Merlin could understand that too.

There were things Merlin couldn’t tell Daisy. He could hardly say that Arthur wanted people to be trustworthy and so sometimes he trusted people he shouldn’t. It would not be helpful for Merlin to tell Daisy that Arthur was arrogant and stubborn and insufferably noble at the least convenient times. Merlin dared not reveal how willing Arthur was to sacrifice himself for the sake of Camelot and the people he cared about.

“He can fight.” Merlin began. “And not just fight but he can plan the fighting. He’s good at it. He enjoys it but only in a good cause. He really does believe that the point is to help and protect people. He believes in things like honor and keeping your word even when he is dealing with people he knows are dishonorable liars.”

“He’s loyal and he tries to be fair. He’s courageous, too.” Merlin swallowed remembering all the times Arthur had been afraid and all the times that hadn’t stopped him. “But that’s not the most important thing. The most important thing is that his people love him. You’ll see at the Gathering. He’ll show you.” It was impossible not to choose Arthur. Merlin swallowed again. He hadn’t gotten it exactly right and there was still much more but if Daisy hadn’t at least gotten a sense of Arthur from that then more talking wouldn’t help.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Daisy said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I’ll see you at the Mór Cruinniú, then.” Merlin said standing up.

“Yes.” Daisy stood too and she gave Merlin an affectionate smile. “It was an honor to have met you.”

Merlin inclined his head in farewell and left the stone circle. A minute later he found Gawain leaning against a tree and trying not to glower.

“Sorry.” Merlin apologized. His meeting with Daisy had taken several hours. “Ready?”

Gawain nodded and the two mounted their horses returning in the direction they had come the day before.

Squinting against the sun, Alator watched them go. When Daisy came up and stood beside him he offered a silent-spoken greeting.

‘You were right.’ Daisy said without preamble.

‘About the magic?’ Alator asked his lips curling gently upward.

‘Yes.’ Daisy acknowledged. ‘He went through all the tests. He never even properly incanted. He made the Key just by brute strength.’

‘Imagine what he could be if he were properly trained.’

‘I’m almost afraid to.’ Daisy confessed.

Alator turned to face Daisy and raised his eyebrows. ‘What about the rest of it?’

‘What?’

‘Was I right about the rest of it?’ Alator repeated. Daisy’s shoulders slumped a little and she looked fragile suddenly but Alator was unmoved.

‘Yes.’ 

‘So we are agreed?’ Alator asked almost eagerly.

“Yes.” Daisy spoke aloud and the break in the silence gave the word an ominous clarity.

‘You are reluctant?’

‘You are not?’

‘Give me another way, Scáthán Damhsóir.’ Alator demanded.

Daisy had no other way but she still said, ‘He will struggle to accept and understand it.’

‘He will understand though, in time.’ Alator retorted, pompously to Daisy’s thinking.

‘Have you ever met any of the Pendragons?’

‘The women. Though, I don’t suppose the wife counts. Mild as toast, that one.’ Alator answered.

‘And was there anything about the Lady Morgana?’ Daisy asked genuinely curious.

‘Anything that might convince me to throw my heart at her feet? There was not. Mordred is no more than a boy ensnared by a beautiful woman.’ Alator spoke with contempt.

‘So what would you say of Nimue or Merlin?’

‘Nimue was never one of the People. As for Emrys, it’s clear enough. He has been isolated from us. His only source of counsel was a traitorous old man. He cannot be blamed. There was no one to show him any better.’ Alator was angry. His face had colored which caused a bizarre contrast with the white of his eyebrows.

Now Daisy was unmoved. She gazed at Alator impassively. ‘Have you never wondered, Alator, how it has come to this?’

‘What do you mean?’ Alator asked. His flare of temper was already receding.

Daisy sighed, ‘Think of the dozen most powerful sorcerers in Albion, where are they? What are they doing? How many of them do nothing more than cower in the shadows? How many of them are eager even now for the chance to throw not only their hearts but their magic at Arthur Pendragon’s feet?’

‘It was the Romans.’ Alator said stonily. ‘They upset the balance so profoundly that the world is still putting itself back together. We shall have our rightful place again. The People of the Way shall lead our magic kin and all will be as it was meant to be. Now,’ Alator had grown tired of this line of conversation ‘we have much to do and little time to do it in. Will you come with me?’

Daisy nodded but she did not immediately follow as Alator strode away. She continued to stare at the horizon. Alator was a clever man but he was too seduced by the outward trappings of power no matter what he tried to tell himself. He had not truly appreciated the significance of her question. Magic was the greatest force in the world. Its power was absolute and infinite. This was indisputably true. No one who had seen magic, let alone experienced it, could be in any doubt about that. So, how was it that people without magic not only could survive in the world but prosper? How could they thrive like weeds while Daisy’s own people shivered in their hiding places afraid? Afraid! Those without magic were nothing, they were no more than animals, yet somehow they had driven the gods’ own chosen people to their knees. For the world to be put to rights the question had to be answered. How had it happened? How had the magicless cheated their inevitable fate? Daisy needed to find out. No matter how clever Alator’s plans were they would ultimately come to nothing if this one mystery could not be solved.  
*  
The barn smelled of fresh hay and sheep. It was a rich familiar scent and Merlin found himself smiling as he molded the clean straw into something approximately like a bed. The villagers had been understandably wary of the six men who had ridden into their midst that afternoon but they had warmed up considerably since the knights had proved willing to pay for supper and a clean place to sleep.

The village was a diversion of a few hours from the directions Alator had given Merlin to the Mór Cruinniú. Arthur, though, had been curious enough about local conditions to justify the detour. Merlin was glad as he generally preferred any human habitation to the wilderness. Just as Merlin was ready to lay blankets over his carefully created straw beds he heard a rustling behind him. He turned quickly to see that two boys, perhaps eight or nine years old, were watching him from the barn door.

“Hello,” Merlin greeted with one of his brightest grins.

The boys did not return the greeting but continued to stare at him until one of them asked with a child’s forwardness. “Are you a squire?”

“No,” Merlin answered sitting back and taking a drink of water from his canteen.

“You’re not a knight.” The children moved further into the barn.

“What makes you think I’m not?” Merlin asked trying not to smile.

“You’re not.” The first boy repeated. “You don’t look like the others.”

“Well, that’s fair.” Merlin agreed not bothering to hide his smile anymore. “You’re right I’m not a knight.”

“But you know about knights?” The second boy spoke for the first time. “You travel with them?”

“Yeah, I’d say I know about knights.”

“So, what are they like?” The boys had moved still further into the barn and now they both sat down as though ready for a story.

“Why don’t you ask one of the knights if you want to know about knights?”

The boys exchanged a look before the first one admitted. “Mother told us not to bother them.”

“Well, I can tell you this much about these particular knights. It won’t bother them if you ask questions- just so long as you’re polite about it.” Merlin informed the children, though he refrained from asking what their mother would think of them bothering him. The boys looked dubious.

“The very tall knight is called Sir Percival.” Merlin continued. “Ask him anything you like.”

“How come you’re not a knight?” The first boy, who appeared to be the bolder, demanded.

“Because I don’t want to be.” 

The first boy tilted his chin and looked down his nose at Merlin in an expression that defined skepticism.

“There are plenty of things as fulfilling as being a knight.”

“Like what?”

Merlin had a long list of answers and he was just deciding whether to arrange them alphabetically or by topic when he was distracted by the sound of his name.

“Merlin, have you-“ Arthur who was just coming into the barn with Leon at his side broke off as he saw Merlin seated cross-legged in front of the two boys. Merlin noted with some annoyance that Arthur must have found something amusing in this spectacle because he was wearing his ‘it’s inappropriate to laugh even if it is really funny’ expression. “Making new friends?” 

“These boys have questions about knighthood.” Merlin answered. The boys had jumped to their feet at Arthur and Leon’s arrival and now they wore expressions that were paradoxically both of dismay and excitement.

“Oh, yes?”

“I said they should ask Percival about it if he was willing to talk.”

Arthur regarded both boys carefully. It seemed to Merlin that the longer Arthur looked the straighter the boys’ posture became. Finally, Arthur nodded, “All right. Go speak to Sir Percival.”

The boys did not scuttle having been dismissed but walked with careful dignity from the barn giving Arthur and Leon as wide a berth as was logistically possible. When the children were gone Leon went off to set up his bedroll and Arthur came to sit down next to Merlin.

“What?” 

Merlin was shaking his head with an indecipherable expression on his face. “You.”

“You know, Merlin, some people might take pride in being the sort of person a child would seek out and confide in.” Arthur said as though he was pointing out the obvious.

“Like Percival?” Merlin suggested. Now it was Arthur’s turn to shake his head.

“So, did you get what you wanted?” Merlin asked as Arthur stretched out on the neatly arranged, blanket-covered straw.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin before saying a little defensively, “We will now include this village and its immediate surroundings in our patrols, if that is what you are asking.”

That was what Merlin had been asking. They were a day out of Camelot and well within the borders of Esectia. After Cenred’s death a civil war had started over the succession. The violence between the claimants was mostly restricted to Esectia’s capital but the competition for the throne had left the rest of the kingdom to fend for itself. Arthur had been sending patrols further into Esectia as more and more villages realized they had been abandoned.

“I don’t know why you’re troubled about it.” Merlin paused as the barn door opened again to admit Elyan and then he went on. “All of these villages are completely undefended. And even without the threat of bandits and other opportunists they are one hard winter or one bad crop away from utter disaster. You don’t know what it is like to be alone, Arthur, isolated and abandoned with no one to know or care if you’re alive or dead. These people need your help.”

“It’s taking advantage of the situation. Yes, Esectia is a mess and yes, I trust myself to put it right over any of Cenred’s heirs but it’s-“ Arthur broke off apparently unhappy with where that sentence was taking him. “Look, it’s awkward. I have more or less just turned up here to say, ‘Oh, hello. Remember me? We were at war not too long ago. I’m just on the way to see some Druids but as I was in the area I thought I’d just pop by. This territory wouldn’t happen to be ripe for the plucking?’”

“No. You’re right.” Merlin said after a pause. “It would be much less awkward to let them shift for themselves. Or better yet you could wait until some disaster drives them to beg for help from anyone who might give them a hearing. With luck, they won’t delay too long before they find their way to Camelot. Or maybe someone else will help them. I can’t imagine who though. Can you?”

“You’re in a mood.” Arthur commented. A unified Albion was the ultimate (though still largely unarticulated) goal yet Arthur could not help but worry about the means. “Are you fretting over the Mór Cruinniú?”

“No. Why would I be?” Merlin demanded. He wasn’t in a mood. He just didn’t understand why Arthur felt even the smallest ambivalence about a situation that left everyone better off.

Arthur brought his lips down in an exaggerated frown and shook his head. “I can’t think of a single reason.”

“Because there isn’t one. I’ve barely thought about the Mór Cruinniú all day.” This might have stretched the truth. Merlin was nervous about the Druids. He was nervous because he desperately wanted an alliance with a magical group to work. It also bothered him that he was supposed to be Emrys and he was afraid that might come with expectations he would be unable or unwilling to fulfill. Then, of course, he was afraid of disappointing Arthur. He had disappointed Arthur sometimes when all Arthur expected from him was a hot breakfast delivered early enough to let him eat it. Now Arthur expected- well, he expected magic. What if everything went to hell and it all ended up being Merlin’s fault? 

“Good because, you know, there is nothing to worry about."

Percival was the last of the knights to come in for the night and he turned down the lantern hanging from one of the structure’s thick pillars before shuffling off to lie down next to Gawain who was already snoring softly.

“So, what was on your mind, then?” Arthur asked just as Merlin had begun to think the conversation had ended.

“What?”

“So, what were you brooding about all day if not the Druids?”

Merlin turned his head in Arthur’s direction but the light was too dim to see anything more than his outline in the darkness. “I wasn’t brooding. I was thinking about what to name my owl.”

“Did you come to any conclusions?” Arthur spoke quietly in deference to their sleeping companions and Merlin found he liked the whispering.

“I was thinking of Marcus.”

“It lacks panache.” Arthur commented. 

“I wasn’t aiming for panache.”

“Well done then. Any other ideas?”

“I like how Sir Ector calls all his hawks after great Romans. I just can’t think of any Romans I’d want to name him after. He’s not really a belligerent owl.” Merlin explained.

“Why not pick one of the Greeks, then.” Arthur suggested as he stretched his arms overhead then restlessly shifted his shoulders. 

“So, what’s a good Greek name?” Merlin knew the Romans because everyone knew the Romans but the Greeks were a much vaguer idea in his mind.

“How about Aristotle?”

“Who was he then?”

“Well, among other things he was Alexander the Great’s tutor.” Arthur said

“People still know who Alexander the Great’s tutor was?”

“People still know who Alexander the Great’s horse was, Merlin.” Arthur said seriously. 

“You don’t think that’s excessive?” Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what Alexander the Great was meant to have done but he couldn’t imagine that whatever it was could justify so much attention.

“Well, when a fellow goes about weeping because there are no more worlds to conquer he tends to stick in people’s memory.” Arthur said dryly. Again he shifted beside Merlin turning his weight one way and then another before settling back into the same position he had started in.

“He did that?” Merlin asked incredulously.

“So the story goes.”

“What an ass.”

Arthur laughed but then said thoughtfully, “He didn’t seem to care much about his worlds once he’d conquered them so he was bound to get bored.”

Merlin’s contempt was palpable and Arthur smiled. “So, not Aristotle then.”

“No,” Merlin agreed. “I like the idea of naming him after a teacher though. Or a healer? Were there any famous Greek healers?”

“Hippocrates or maybe Asclepius.”

“No. The first just sounds wrong and I’m not sure I could get my tongue around the second.”

“There was someone,” Arthur said searching far back into his memory. “He wasn’t a healer but he was a scientist. His city was being invaded by the Persian navy and he built something, some sort of machine that he needed everyone in the city to help him operate but it worked. The enemy was turned back and the city saved. There was more too. Something about the weight of crowns and finding a place to stand so that he could move the world.”

“That seems all right. What was he called?”

Arthur shook his head. “I can’t remember. It was a long time ago and oddly enough I haven’t had occasion to need that particular fact.”

“Then I can’t really name my owl after this scientist fellow, can I.” Merlin said with feigned annoyance.

“Geoffrey would know. He’d be pleased if you asked him.” Arthur said but his voice had changed a little as though his mind was elsewhere.

“Maybe I will.” Merlin conceded. Merlin had the impression that Geoffrey didn’t particularly like him but the old archivist did enjoy trivia.

There was silence for several minutes. Then, Merlin heard Arthur shifting again.

“How’s your hand?” Arthur had mostly recovered from the injuries inflicted by the Saxons. The bruises had faded and while the scar from the magic fire still looked red and angry Arthur said nothing about it. His hand still pained him though- especially at night when there was nothing else to think about.

“It’s all right.” Arthur said with a sigh.

“Does it hurt?” Merlin clarified as he turned onto his side facing Arthur.

“Not very much.” It wasn’t that the pain was at all severe. It was that it was annoying and uncomfortable and difficult to ignore in the silent darkness.

“You tried to do too much too soon.” Merlin remonstrated. A little magic had been used to speed Arthur’s healing and the bones had mended more quickly than they otherwise would have. Arthur had not however been willing to change his routine enough to let the injury heal completely.

“Probably.” Arthur said without remorse.

“Here, let me see.” Merlin reached for Arthur’s hand with both his own. Arthur let out an exasperated breath but did nothing to prevent him.

Merlin’s fingers were cool against Arthur’s skin. He traced the gauges in Arthur’s wrist before gently pressing into the muscles along the side of each bone. Merlin moved slowly alert for any indication that he was causing pain but Arthur didn’t twitch. He wasn’t entirely relaxed either but he didn’t pull away as Merlin looked for the uninjured places. After Merlin had worked a while Arthur did begin to relax. His hand grew heavier and his fingers curled gently. 

The stinging ache that had grown so maddening was gone, crowded out by Merlin. It was such a relief that Arthur didn’t mind the occasional moment when Merlin pressed too firmly. Arthur found himself growing sleepy. His consciousness began to wander to the shape and feel of Merlin’s hands, long fingers and slender wrists. Not really a swordsman’s hands. There were a few calluses but not in the right places. They were a sorcerer’s hands. Arthur knew that. Yes, of course he did. Arthur wondered if he could feel the magic inside Merlin. He captured one of Merlin’s hands easily, just by curling his fingers a little tighter. There was a flutter of movement. Had that been the magic? Arthur wasn’t sure. Perhaps if he held a little tighter then he would know. If he touched the center of Merlin, if he touched the magic at the heart of him would Arthur finally understand? What would the magic in Merlin feel like? Warm or cool? Soft and yielding or hard and sharp? It must be buried deep for it to have been hidden so long.

The sudden stillness roused Arthur a little. Merlin was lying on his side. He was holding Arthur’s hand in a loose grip. Arthur wondered if Merlin had fallen asleep. With some idea of gently disentangling them, Arthur slowly began to withdraw his hand only just realizing as he started to move that he really ought to let go of Merlin first. As he released his grasp on Merlin’s hand however, Merlin suddenly held tightly. Uncertain and still encumbered by the vestiges of sleep Arthur did not resist as Merlin brought Arthur’s hand up to his lips. He placed a careful kiss against Arthur’s Pendragon ring and then, almost fiercely, Merlin pressed his lips to the back of Arthur’s hand. In the next instant Merlin let go and turned away to lie on his other side.

“Good night, Arthur.” 

Arthur stared up into the darkness of the barn’s rafters. He listened to Gawain’s quiet rhythmic snoring and Percival’s loud sporadic snore without thinking about anything in particular. After an unidentifiable measure of time Arthur blinked rapidly several times.

“Good night, Merlin.” Arthur murmured before turning to his side and going to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning Merlin sat staring at the contents of his pack set out in front of him. The others were lingering over a generous breakfast with the village elders but Merlin had come back to the barn overcome with a sudden anxiety. Now Merlin picked up the long knife that he had kept wrapped in his spare shirt. 

This was the knife that Merlin had picked up from the Saxon cave. It was the knife Arthur had used to kill his Saxon tormentor and it was the knife the Saxon sorcerers had intended Arthur to use to take his own life. Turning it this way and that Merlin could not discern that there was anything different about the knife. It was as it had been since he had first picked it up, redolent of the magic that thrived in the dark and fetid parts of the human mind. The urge to destroy it was almost overpowering. But, then, there was the Arthurishness too. There was less of that than there had been but there was still too much for Merlin to be able destroy the knife. Instead he carried it with him along with the medallion with which it was clearly a pair. He was afraid to let the artifacts out of his possession.

As circumspectly as he could, Merlin had asked Fallon and then Gaius about the Saxon artifacts. They had not been able to tell him much more than he had already known. The only solace Merlin had was that it seemed that the active link between Arthur, the knife and the medallion had been severed. Arthur could not be hurt through these objects- at least that was what Merlin had convinced himself. He had it in mind to ask the Druids, provided all went well. He would give as few details as possible but this was the sort of thing that he could easily imagine Alator being familiar with.

Sighing Merlin re-wrapped the objects and returned everything to his pack. He probably was just nervous about the Druids. Or maybe he was feeling a bit awkward about the night before. Not that there was anything to feel awkward over. It had seemed the obvious and inevitable thing to do at the time. In the cold light of day, however, he couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur had found the gesture too . . . sentimental.

Ready to rejoin his companions Merlin heaved himself to his feet. As he turned round he saw two large eyes peering at him from behind one of the barn’s pillars. Merlin allowed himself a few seconds for his heart to climb back into his chest before offering a casual ‘hello’ to one of the boys he had spoken to the night before.

“Hello.” The boy answered still studying Merlin intently.

“Did you speak to Sir Percival?” Merlin asked, feeling oddly obliged to make up for his startlement with a display of nonchalance.

The boy nodded but didn’t say anything.

Merlin slung his pack over a shoulder and smiled at the boy as he started to walk around him and out of the barn.

“So what’s just as good as being a knight?” The boy demanded suddenly just before Merlin reached the door.

Merlin almost asked if that was a riddle before he recalled the conversation of the night before. “Lots of things.” Merlin said dropping his pack to the ground and turning to lean against the barn wall.

“Like what?”

“Well, no one would get very far without farmers. So, that’s clearly important. Then there are tanners and smiths and farriers.” Merlin listed as he looked around the barn and took in its various contents. “There are brewers. According to some people that is about the greatest job there could be. There are also spinners, weavers and cobblers. Doing anything that is useful and that you enjoy is as good as being a knight”

The boy gazed at Merlin as though he couldn’t decide if the man was joking or just crazy.

Merlin sighed. He supposed that the boy wanted to hear about something that was as exciting as being knight. “How about a sorcerer, then? If you were a sorcerer then you could do all the good a knight could do and you wouldn’t have to wear 50 pounds of metal constantly in need of maintenance.”

“I could be a sorcerer?” It was clearly not a possibility the boy had considered before.

“You need a certain natural aptitude but you could try if you wanted.”

“Don’t sorcerers just go around turning people who make them angry into frogs?” The boy questioned suspiciously.

“Demonstrably not.” Merlin muttered to himself before forcing his face into his usual benevolent grin. “Maybe you should try lots of things and stick with what feels right.” Merlin picked up his pack and gave the boy a friendly pat on the shoulder. His feelings really shouldn’t be hurt. The boy’s fascination with knights and distrust of sorcerers wasn’t personal. Sorcerers were secretive and vengeful. That was just what people thought. They weren’t going to think any differently either. Not until they were given a reason to reconsider.

A woman approached Merlin just as he exited the barn. Automatically Merlin stepped aside thinking that she wanted to go past him. She turned with him though. Merlin noticed that the younger boy from yesterday was with her and that the older boy had walked around Merlin to join them.

Merlin said “Good morning.” At the same time as the woman said, “Excuse me.”

“Are these your boys?” Merlin asked after several seconds of silence.

“Yes. I hope they haven’t been bothering you.” The woman, who was in her mid-twenties and quite pretty, seemed nervous.

“Of course not.” Merlin told her happy to reassure. He suddenly hoped that he had not been presumptuous. This woman probably wouldn’t appreciate Merlin’s career advice to her son. Merlin hadn’t meant anything but to generally encourage the boy to do what made him happy but it was hard to know what sorts of thing a child would take to heart.

“Good.” The woman bit her lip and looked down. Her older son seemed ready to wander off, bored with the conversation but she reeled him back to her with a practiced tug at his collar.

“So, you’ll be traveling northeast this morning?” The woman asked.

“Yes, for a little while.”

The woman nodded as though she were disappointed. “If you happen to see two boys- a little older than these two- out that way, would you tell them to come home?” Tears began to overflow the woman’s eyes as she stood there and there was a mournful hitch to her last word.

“Yes, of course. Are they your brothers? How long have they been away?” Merlin asked instantly concerned.

“They’re my nephews.”

“All right. Look, I’m Merlin. Why don’t you tell me your name and then tell me what’s happened?” Merlin said reaching out a comforting hand.

The woman haltingly introduced herself as Rita. Then she told Merlin in bits and pieces that her two nephews, Kivan and Luke, had decided to go hunting three days ago. It was not a convenient time for them to be away. The harvest was coming in and there was work for every able-body. But, Kivan and Luke had promised that they would only be gone a day and as the boys had lost both parents to a winter fever last year, their aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to refuse.

There was an old abandoned Roman fortress several miles to the west which had been built over the ruins of an even earlier settlement. Rita was sure that this would be where the boys would go. The fort had been an irresistible attraction to the children of the village for generations. It was also the obvious camp for anyone traveling through the area. There were few travelers though to take advantage of the fort.

By this time, Arthur and the knights had returned to fetch Merlin and the horses before continuing on to the Mór Cruinniú. Rita had to begin her story again from the beginning. In the meantime, Rita’s husband had come looking for her. The man visibly blanched as he saw his wife amid the knights. He made a brief effort to stop the story- assuring the knights that all was well in hand and that they needn’t trouble themselves. Soon, though, he was helping Rita tell the story adding some details and arguing others. Not long after that other villagers began to coalesce around the group, filling in background and occasionally introducing tangents. The knights found themselves trying to balance between being intimidating enough to keep the story focused and sympathetic enough to keep Rita’s nerves at bay.

Rita’s husband- Henry- had gone out to search for Luke and Kivan but he had remained close to the village. The past few weeks riders had been noticed coming in going in great haste to the east. So much activity was unusual. No one knew their business and as long as the riders kept clear of the village Rita and her neighbors were content not to know, though theories abounded. In the last few days, however, no horsemen had been spotted and against her better judgment she had allowed her nephews out on their own. Now Rita feared that the horsemen had not left at all. Even with some unspecified number of men up to the devil knew what it should have been easy enough for two boys, familiar with the forest to avoid anyone on the main path. And yet, the boys had not come home.

“We will find them.” Arthur announced after every detail had been wrung from Rita’s story.

“You’re going to go look for them?” Henry asked sounding unsure.

“Why do you think we came here?” Arthur asked pinning the man with his eyes. “What do you think was our intention?”

Henry could not answer and after a moment Arthur turned away.

The men from Camelot rode far enough away from the village to be sure of privacy before Arthur drew to a halt. 

“Anyone care to guess who we’ll find at the fortress?” Arthur asked the men around him. The villagers had given contradictory descriptions of the riders but taken together the horsemen sounded like bandits or perhaps mercenaries. There was no indication they were Esectia knights which was the one thing that had Arthur nervous.

“I don’t see how they can be anyone with legitimate business.” Leon answered. “But in any case, if we investigate what is happening here we will not reach the Druid gathering before tomorrow.”

“It can’t be helped.” Arthur said, though his brow had furrowed.

“Surely, the Druids will understand.” Percival could not imagine anything more important than finding lost children.

“If they don’t then do we really want an alliance anyway?” Gawain put in with the probable intention of helping. 

Arthur frowned harder then came to a decision. “We’ll split up. Merlin, why don’t you and Gawain go on ahead and the rest of us will catch up as soon as we’ve finished here.”

“But you’re the one the Druids need to see, Sire.” Merlin did not like the idea of splitting up. Arthur should never be left without means to defend against a magical attack. “You don’t want to give them an excuse to be offended or to get the idea you don’t want to talk with them.”

“If they are looking for an excuse to be offended then they’ll find one.” Arthur smiled. “Somehow, though, I think they’ll manage to be pleased with you.” The Druids exalted prophecy. They honored magic. It was obvious they wanted Merlin. Alator had even implied that Arthur’s presence would make some of the Druids uncomfortable. Arthur had not planned it this way but it made perfect sense for Merlin to go on ahead and work his charms, magical or otherwise.

“I’m not so sure of that.” Merlin mumbled. Just because he was Emrys that didn’t mean Merlin understood the Druids any better than anyone else. It certainly didn’t mean that he understood the give and take of a complex negotiation between various groups with diverse resources and ambitions. Give him a magical problem, present a magical threat and Merlin was the undisputed champion. Tell him to convince a collection of proud and powerful people to do something they might not be inclined to do and he was less certain of himself. “We’re stronger when we’re together- whether we stay and look for the children or go on to the gathering.”

“Merlin,” The people in the village had not expected Arthur to help them. They had accepted that offering them a certain amount of Camelot’s protection was in Arthur’s interest and they had been glad of it but it hadn’t occurred to them that he really intended to help. Arthur meant to fix that and he meant to do it personally. “This way we can do two things at once. I know that you will represent Camelot’s interests well, probably better than I could in this situation.”

There was no more to be said without an actual argument and Merlin doubted an actual argument would change anything. It was with a sense of foreboding though, that Merlin with Gawain at his side left Arthur and his small group of knights and continued on toward the Mór Cruinniú.

Arthur watched them go with a contemplative expression. Merlin’s reluctance had been palpable and Arthur was beset by contradictory feelings. It was deeply humbling; deeply gratifying that Merlin had been Arthur’s constant protector for so long. Merlin’s vigilant care for Arthur’s safety touched Arthur to his heart. Arthur loved Merlin and Merlin’s love for him flooded Arthur with a fierce joy, an exultant pride. And yet, sometimes when Arthur considered Merlin’s protectiveness his sentiments were necessarily alloyed. Loyalty without honesty, faith without trust, Merlin must have powerful magic indeed to have sustained such contradictions for so long.

Arthur wanted to be grateful to Merlin and he felt that going forward he could be. Merlin had done wonderful things. He had sacrificed much and he had risked more. Arthur wanted to honor that. He did honor it but Arthur also felt that in the past Merlin had cheated him of the right to stand on his own two feet and face the world as it truly was. He had robbed Arthur of the chance to ask for help and then the choice of whether to accept it. The knowledge of what had been done in secret left Arthur feeling coddled, patronized and diminished- not just as prince, but as a human being. He was no longer angry but they both needed to guard against old habits.

Once, Arthur had suspected Leon of secretly underperforming in a tournament so that Arthur could appear more skilled than he was. Leon had denied it and Arthur would not dispute his word but the seed of doubt had been planted. Arthur had needed to prove to his own satisfaction that his faith in his own skills was justified and he had- at least when it came to his battle skills. Now, Arthur was coming to realize that while he was proud to have Merlin’s loyalty and generally glad of his protection, the legacy of Merlin’s secret was that Arthur once again felt like he had everything to prove. 

On top of Arthur’s ambivalence about Merlin’s protective instinct, Arthur was also growing increasingly aware that he and Merlin would have to come to some sort of new arrangement soon. It was important that Merlin- despite his apparent reluctance- start assuming a role of authority. They really couldn’t continue as they were. Arthur was being selfish and he knew it. It was just that Arthur liked having Merlin near him. He liked talking to him. He liked knowing that there were certain things he never had to worry about because Merlin would take care of them. It was just that everything was so much easier; so much better when Arthur had Merlin by his side. 

It didn’t make matters easier for Arthur that Merlin wasn’t pressing him for any sort of rank or title. Arthur could have found it in himself to feel joy in giving Merlin something he wanted but Merlin hadn’t asked for anything. At first, Arthur had attributed Merlin’s unwillingness to seek a post at court or announce the magnitude of his power to residual fear and mistrust. Power, even power as great as Merlin’s, was not always proof against fear. 

Yet as time went on Arthur was less convinced. Merlin seemed content. He had not sought in any way Arthur could discern to advance his position. He acted as though everything was as it should be. If Arthur were being honest he would say that everything felt like it was as it should be but Arthur reminded himself again that this was selfish. It wasn’t going to be easy but Arthur had to acknowledge the inevitable and it seemed like the best way to do that was to nudge Merlin toward his role as the Druid’s much-acclaimed Emrys.

Though the change was for the best, Arthur knew he would feel loss- even grief. The closeness he shared with Merlin was precious to him. They had had this little bit of time but that was all they could have. As Merlin grew into publicly owning his power a necessary distance would also grow between king and sorcerer. Those with magic would stake their claim on Merlin and pull him away from Arthur because Arthur’s first responsibility would always be to judge as fairly as he could between the competing interests of all his people, magic or not. Arthur and Merlin’s agreements and disagreements would thus become politically charged. Every nuance of their interaction would be scrutinized for potential meaning by allies and by enemies. There would be people who would attempt to sew discord and distrust between them and the best guard against that was strict professionalism. 

And there was still the quest. Arthur needed to feel like he could trust in himself but maybe the only way he was ever going to be able to do that was to give Merlin up- at least give up his deep personal reliance on Merlin. For Merlin’s sake as well Arthur needed to let him go. Merlin would do well with the Druids, Arthur knew it. Merlin would eventually come to realize that he could never be really happy tethered to Arthur’s side. Merlin deserved to be happy.

“Let’s get moving.” Arthur said to his remaining knights before Merlin and Gawain had had a chance to disappear from sight.  
*  
“There have been riders.” Leon said superfluously as they surveyed the dirt track which served as the nearest thing to a road in the area.

Elyan had dismounted and was examining the tracks. He wished that he had thought to ask the villagers the last time it had rained. He felt that he had surely heard everything else that had transpired in the last three days.

“Is it the same group of people?” Arthur was content to rely on the expertise of his companions.

“I can’t tell.” Elyan said reluctantly. “There are at least ten distinct prints. There are probably more but I’m not sure.”

“Well the boys were hunting and even if they hadn’t been they ought to have had enough sense to keep away from the path.” Arthur nudged Hengroen over the road’s shallow ditch into the thick wood that crept up nearly to the path itself.

The ground was soft beneath their horses’ hooves as the knights picked their way around trees whose leaves were just starting to turn the brilliant red and orange of autumn. Birds chattered among themselves and though the sun shone brightly in a clear sky the forest floor lay in shadow. 

Elyan searched diligently but his mind began to wander as the group spread out moving parallel to the road. He wished Arthur hadn’t left Cabal with Gwen. During their trip south Elyan had come to enjoy the animal’s company. Now having the wolf hound beside them would have been a reassurance as the knights moved through the unknown forest. There was a mystery here and dogs had a steady practical sense about them that stood athwart the unknown.

In Elyan’s experience, and Elyan considered himself well-traveled for a man of his age, this wasn’t the sort of place people came to without a good reason. His mind was full of speculation about the band of men that had come here. He found it easier to think of the strange travelers than of the boys they had come to rescue. The search seemed unlikely to end happily so Elyan concentrated on the companion mystery to the boys’ disappearance. The men who had come through had kept intentionally clear of the village. What did they have to hide? Surely honest men would have come to avail themselves of fresh bread, a sturdy roof and the company of their fellow human beings. Bandits would have been tempted by the village as well.

There had been a consensus among the villagers that the men had been armed though no one had come close enough to observe a specific weapon. Were the men fugitives? Perhaps but who was there to run from? Elyan secretly hoped that they were treasure seekers on the trail of some long abandoned trove of Roman plunder. Perhaps the men had fallen out among themselves as fortune hunters were wont to do and now no one remained to claim the treasure. Perhaps the village boys had come upon the abandoned hoard and were busily contriving some means of returning with it to their village.

“Here.” Percival’s call had contrived to be both a whisper and a shout. His awareness jerked back to the present, Elyan and the others converged upon Percival’s position. 

“Someone must have stumbled here.” Percival indicated a small stone that lay a foot distant to an indentation in the dirt its exact shape and size. “There’s a bit of blood and then this.” Percival waved his hand to direct attention to the clear impression of a boot heel.

Elyan could see that the print was too big and too deep to have been made by anything less than a full grown man- a heavy man. It could not have been one of the missing children. The mark had also been made recently. 

In obedience to Arthur’s gestures, the knights fanned out around Percival, allowing him to follow the trail while making themselves ready to converge upon their quarry. It was less than an hour before Percival, who had been moving forward without much hesitation, stopped still in his tracks. Percival turned around and then he turned around again more carefully. With an expression of profound annoyance he began to retrace his steps. This time he went slowly, frequently looking yards to the right and left.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elyan saw a blur of movement. He turned quickly but even as he did so a blade was already out and swinging at Percival. Elyan shouted and started to run.

Percival had been utterly engrossed by the contradictory tracks before him. It wasn’t until the last possible moment that he became aware of his danger. Percival shifted and took a stroke intended for his throat across his shoulder. Before he had time to do so much as feel pain the breath was knocked from him and he staggered backward. His foot lost traction on the mossy earth and he fell. 

Suddenly, Elyan was there his sword between Percival and his attacker. Scrambling to his feet, Percival drew his own sword and took in the figure before him. The man’s hair was unkempt and his face was dirty. There was blood on his hands and on one sleeve but to Percival’s shock the wild man wore chainmail and his sword was of better quality than Percival had ever seen wielded by a bandit.

The knight- for no other explanation came to Percival- bared his teeth, clearly willing to take on two men, then inexplicably, the aggression drained from his face to be replaced by confusion. At the same moment, both Percival and Elyan recognized something familiar in the man before them.

“You are surrounded. Yield!” Arthur and Leon had arrived with their own weapons drawn.

Realizing he was indeed surrounded the knight slowly lowered his sword. His confusion rose up to the bursting point. He turned slowly. 

“Arthur?” The man’s posture changed. All the tension seemed to drain out of him and was immediately replaced by a rapturous energy. “Arthur! Leon!”

“Gareth?” Arthur and Leon had both lowered their swords and were studying the man before them intently. 

“Arthur, how did you know to come?” Gareth bounded to Arthur, grinning foolishly. The grin youthened him and made him instantly recognizable through his disheveled looks. Arthur was grinning as well. Gareth, suddenly uncertain but still elated, made as if to go to one knee but Arthur caught him and held him briefly in a one armed hug.

“Where in hell have you been?” Arthur took a step back to take in Gareth’s bedraggled appearance. He was sunburned and unshaven. There was a clumsily wrapped cloth around his arm and his sleeve was bloody. More than that the man looked exhausted. “The patrols have been keeping an eye out for you for weeks.”

“Have you not received my messages, Sire?” By this time, Leon had come forward to offer his own one-armed embrace. After hugging Leon Gareth noticed Percival and Elyan. Instantly he became concerned. “Sorry. Sorry. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Percival answered rubbing his shoulder where his chain mail had turned Gareth’s blade. There would be a bruise but no worse and Percival’s initial alarm was quickly turning into embarrassment at having been taken off guard. 

“I didn’t realize who you were.” Gareth continued to apologize. “I thought I was cornered and I had to fight. I should have seen . . ..” Gareth touched the edge of Percival’s cloak and shook his head.

Gareth clearly had a story to tell and Arthur was eager to hear it all but first things first: “Gareth, we’re looking for two boys from the nearby village. Do you know anything about them?”

“They’re at the fort if we are speaking of the same boys.” As Gareth calmed down his fatigue began to reassert itself. Leon took him by the shoulder, led him to a fallen log and sat him down.

“Are they all right?” Percival demanded forgetting about his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” Gareth said apologetically as he gratefully accepted a canteen from Elyan. “The area around the fortress has been cleared at least fifty yards in all directions. By the time I saw the boys they were already too close. Even if I had broken cover I could not have stopped them.”

“All right.” Arthur hoped to impose a little order on the situation. “Rest a moment, Gareth. Have something to eat if you need it. Let Mer- Leon look at your arm then you can tell us everything from the beginning.” Arthur gave Gareth’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze and then turned away. Arthur wanted both to take stock of their surroundings but also to give the younger man a bit of space. It had occurred to Arthur suddenly that Gareth was very young.

Gareth was terribly hungry but he hadn’t thought of it until Arthur had mentioned food. He hadn’t realized how tired he was either. Camelot, an unexpected flood of homesickness overcame him. He had been a long time away from home. He swallowed his sudden rush of sentiment along with a mouthful of fresh bread. There was still much to do and though seeing Arthur and Leon felt like rescue his mission was far from over. 

Gareth struggled to collect his thoughts as he ate and Leon cleaned the cut on his arm and tied a proper bandage. He remembered the start of his mission vividly. It had begun the day the messenger had come from the south to tell of Vortigen’s imminent death. Gareth had been with several of his friends practicing knife throwing but really they were explaining to each other why each of them should be chosen to join the mission to Dobhardhroim. They had been laughing when Sir Leon had come up to tell Gareth that the King wished to see him. Gareth would have thought it was a joke except that wasn’t the sort of thing a person joked about. Gareth’s friends had all looked at him with some combination of curiosity and envy.

“Now?” Gareth had asked. Leon’s only response was a reproachful look before he turned away. Gareth scrambled after him.

As Gareth followed Leon through the corridors of the castle his mind spiraled in all directions striving to find some plausible reason for the summons. Gareth knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong or at least nothing so wrong as to justify an audience with the king but neither had Gareth done anything particularly praiseworthy. Was it that he was being chosen to go on the mission to Dobhardhroim? That would certainly be welcome but there was no reason why Leon couldn’t tell him that. Gareth’s heart skipped a beat as he suddenly thought of his parents. Were they in rebellion? It wasn’t totally out of the question. Gareth had always known that there was a mercenary streak in his father and his mother had made no secret of her disdain for the new laws. They wouldn’t, though. Surely they wouldn’t. They had no chance of success and deep down they had to see that they needed Arthur, certainly more than Arthur needed them. If it was his parents then Gareth would never forgive them.

Abruptly Leon halted before a closed door with a guard standing at either side. The guards exchanged familiar greetings with Leon. Afterward the senior knight knocked then stood aside for Gareth. Drawing himself up to his full height Gareth straightened his shoulders and went in.

Arthur did not immediately look up from the map laid out on the table before him. This gave Gareth the chance to take in two facts. The first was that Arthur appeared to be alone and second the map he was studying was nowhere near his parents’ holding. Mentally Gareth sagged with relief.

After a few moments Arthur did look up and Gareth quickly dipped his head before meeting his eyes. The silence made Gareth itch but he did not dare break it.

“I have a task, Gareth, and I have heard good reports of you.”

It took Gareth several more seconds to answer than he would have liked but he finally managed. “I hope I may be of service.” That was good and Gareth wanted to leave it there but he could not restrain himself. “May I ask who has spoken well of me?” It was Gareth’s ambition to be a great and valiant knight. He wanted more than anything to win glory for his king and honor for himself. Gareth was aware, however, that he was solidly in the middle of the pack when compared to the rest of the knights of Camelot. It was a shock because at home Gareth had excelled in all fields of knightly endeavor but the competition only made him determined to work harder.

Arthur’s smile was mocking. “Who might you think?”

Gareth could not answer. Leon spent the most time training the new knights and Gareth felt sure that he had not particularly impressed Leon. Besides, Arthur was on the field often enough to know where the talent lay. While he was generally well-liked and amiable Gareth could not think of anyone else whose opinion Arthur sought that he had so much as crossed paths with.

“I don’t know, Sire.” Gareth confessed.

“Sir Kay.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Arthur’s smile was still mocking.

“I did not think Sir Kay had noticed me in particular, Sire.” Gareth tried to explain. He admired Kay but it had genuinely not occurred to him that Kay would have marked him especially; certainly not to the extent that he would mention his name to Arthur. 

When Gareth had first come to Camelot and sought an audience with Arthur in order to announce his desire to train for knighthood, Arthur had taken one long, appraising look at the young man and then promptly sent Gareth to the kitchens with instructions to make himself useful. Gareth had dutifully presented himself whereupon Sir Kay immediately found seemingly endless opportunities for him to fulfill the King’s instructions.

It was a rite of passage of sorts. All of the knights who trained under Arthur had found that for their first days- and in several unhappy cases, weeks- in Camelot they were doing some form of menial work. It was probably intended as a test of determination or a lesson in obedience or humility. Gareth liked to think though, that it was intended to give candidates for knighthood a chance to glimpse the world from a different perspective. Whatever the truth of it, Gareth found that he didn’t mind the work in the kitchens and that he liked Kay, despite the man’s obstinate irascibility. So, even after his training had begun in earnest, Gareth occasionally found himself back in the kitchens unable to resist chatting with his former comrades or lending them a hand.

“There’s not a lot Kay fails to notice. There is no glory in it for him and little enough thanks but so many things would fall apart without him.” Arthur’s voice grew distant and Gareth saw a terrible sorrow take over his expression. “If he wished he could do terrible damage to this kingdom. He could . . .”

Arthur trailed off. There was a question in his gaze but Gareth had no answer. He didn’t even know what the question was and he feared that in his ignorance he had somehow failed Arthur. 

“There isn’t going to be much opportunity for glory if you take on this mission for me, Gareth.” Abruptly Arthur shook off whatever melancholy had possessed him. “When it’s not actually dangerous it’s bound to be boring. Are you interested?”

“Yes, Sire.” Gareth did his best to contain his excitement. He took Arthur at his word. It was going to be boring and dangerous by turns but Gareth didn’t care.

“Come here, then.” Arthur beckoned Gareth toward the map. “What do you know about the Druids?”

Gareth didn’t know very much about the Druids and several hours later his knowledge had not profoundly increased. He did, however, feel that he had a reasonably good understanding of what Arthur wanted from him. He was alternately excited and anxious as he strode down the corridors of the castle toward the quarters he shared with Sir Nevin. 

“Sir Gareth?”

The sound of his name broke into Gareth’s thoughts and he paused. “Yes?”

“Hi. I’m Mer-“

“Merlin. Yes, I know. Hi.” Everyone knew Merlin. They had probably passed each other dozens of times but they had never had occasion to speak to one another.

“I was just wondering if you wanted any help.” Merlin continued when Gareth looked confused. “Getting ready for your trip to Esectia. Arthur didn’t give you much time.”

Gareth tensed but relaxed a second later. Merlin was the King’s servant. Of course, he would know about Gareth’s mission. Merlin probably knew just about everything that happened in the castle- more than Sir Kay perhaps. Gareth smiled. From Merlin’s appearance no one would guess that he had access to the kingdom’s secrets. No one would expect that Merlin, who was cheerful, occasionally odd but generally likeable, would be privy to important matters of state. Ah, but then Merlin also had magic. Gareth had forgotten that for a moment.

“I was just going to-“ As he spoke Gareth realized that the bulk of what he needed wasn’t in his quarters. “I need supplies. I have to go talk to. . . Do you know, I’m not really sure.”

“Let’s start with Cook. First things first, right.”

Merlin led Gareth to the kitchen, then to the stable yard, followed by the armory and finally to the quartermaster, all the while, dispensing this or that piece of advice about the road ahead. Gareth allowed himself to be led, grateful to be taken in hand. He was still working on the idea that he had a quest, a quest given him by the King himself. He had wanted this so much for so long and now he had to tell himself very firmly to calm down and start thinking practically.

“There, you should be set.” Merlin announced as they left the quartermaster having been promised that everything would be ready for Gareth by dawn.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Gareth was genuinely grateful. Merlin had saved him a lot of fruitless chasing around. “I really appreciate the help.”

“Glad to help start you on your adventure.” Merlin grinned.

Gareth grinned back. “I’ve been promised boredom and danger. I don’t think Arthur wants me to think of it as an adventure.”

“It is though.” Merlin was amused by Gareth’s unsuccessful attempts to rein in his enthusiasm. “Danger and boredom notwithstanding, you ought to be able to work in a bit of adventure.”

“I will do my best to be worthy of the trust placed in me.” Gareth said with almost painful sincerity drawing himself up to his full height.

Merlin smiled in amusement at knights and their starry-eyed solemnity but then the amusement died and his smile twisted. 

“What’s the matter?” Gareth asked with concern. Merlin’s expression was suddenly bereft of all its former geniality. He looked unutterably sad and there was something about the abrupt and unexplained shift in mood that reminded Gareth of his conversation with Arthur. “Has something happened?”

“No.” Merlin spoke as though he found Gareth’s sudden solicitude baffling. Any trace of his former emotion had been swept away. “Why would you think so?”

“I don’t know.” Gareth flushed a little. Even if there was something amiss it was certainly not his place to go poking around in other people’s business. Especially not when he had a mission of his own that had a right to his undivided attention. “Sorry.”

“Well, good luck, Gareth.” Merlin was smiling again as though his face was incapable of any other expression. “Take care.”

That had been the start of his quest.

“Gareth.” Leon broke Gareth from his reverie. He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Sir Leon.” Gareth answered abashed. He’d been caught wool-gathering. He had been too long alone and his thoughts had grown undisciplined. If Camelot had not been receiving his reports then he had much to tell. Despite all the wondrous strange things Gareth had since encountered, that first day, when he had been given his quest, stuck most intensely in his mind. Arthur’s instructions and Merlin’s advice came back to him constantly. He remembered everything about that day for his mind had marked it as special.

Leon nodded once, accepting Gareth’s word. The First Knight moved back a few steps while Arthur and the other knights drew closer. Gareth swallowed. “I went to the border as ordered, Sire.” Gareth began. “For the sake of my red cloak I was welcomed by all the villages I encountered but no one had any news about Druids generally or Iseldir particularly. Once or twice it seemed to me that the men I questioned held something back but I did not press for more than they offered.”

“After several weeks, I left a message in one of the villages to be given to the patrols explaining that as yet I had had no luck but that I meant to keep searching.” Gareth looked a question at Arthur and the King nodded. Camelot had received this first message.

“It was that very same night that Iseldir walked into my camp and introduced himself.” Gareth’s spirits had been particularly low that evening when he’d sat watching his fire and contemplating his lack of progress. Again his mind went over everything Arthur had said to him. As predicted there was boredom. Gareth didn’t mind the boredom so much; he just wished he could be more confident that it was in aid of something. Upon that thought the Druid had appeared.

“Iseldir said that he understood that I had been looking for him, so here he was and what was my business. I told him that I had come because Camelot believed him to be a man of peace and reconciliation and to that end I was at his service.”

“I think he was surprised or perhaps he was genuinely pleased by my words and he answered courteously enough. He said that he hoped he was a man of peace according to the will of his gods but that he had no need of me. I replied that if that were the case then would he at least allow me to travel with him for his circumstance might change and then I would be near to hand.” Gareth had been prepared to beg if it had been necessary but fortunately for his pride Iseldir was willing to accept him before it came to that.

“That night we shared the camp and the next morning we set out on foot. Iseldir always traveled on foot and eventually I left my horse in the care of some farmers in order to simplify our travel. By evening we had come to a village and there we stopped. It was a Druid village though I didn’t see that immediately.” It had not been the fact that magic was casually but still sparingly performed that first alerted Gareth that he was in no ordinary village. It was his own reception. Some people would not meet his eyes and some people met his eyes with hostility and anger. Mothers shooed children into their houses when Gareth passed and his polite greetings were met with stony silence- indeed the grave silence was in itself evidence of the strangeness of the village. Gareth did not include these details, though, for the village folk were responding to the Pendragon insignia and not to Gareth himself. This had grieved Gareth and he kept this detail to himself knowing that it would also grieve Arthur. 

“The next morning Iseldir and I set forth again. Though we walked, I believe we must have traveled more distance than was apparent.” Gareth looked at his audience apologetically. “I could not have said how or even when exactly it happened but the world is not so small as it would have to be if there was no magic involved in our travel.”

“We spent most nights visiting various-“ Gareth searched for the word that might best encompass all the places that they had visited “Holdings. Sometimes, as the first night, we came to villages but other nights we ventured into caves to meet with a single man, once it seemed we entered inside a hill where dozens of people, shorter and slighter than most ordinary folk carried on their lives. I could not say that all the people we met were human. Though, neither would I say they definitely weren’t.”

“We did occasionally pass by normal- or rather ordinary, um, I mean conventional-“

“We get it.” Arthur said before Gareth taxed his vocabulary into further rebellion.

“Right.” Gareth acknowledged. “Just, is there a word . . .?”

“Non-magic?” Elyan suggested helpfully.

“Non-magic.” Gareth grinned gratefully at Elyan and shook his head at himself for missing something so obvious. “We occasionally passed by non-magic folk and I gave them messages to pass on to the patrols. But, you did not receive them?”

“No, we received nothing after that first message.” Arthur replied frowning. Lost messages, they were a common hazard for which there seemed to be no ready solution. Even magical solutions proved difficult. After long discussion, Arthur had decided to forego Merlin’s mirrors for this expedition. While the mirrors were genuinely miraculous there were still difficulties that made them impractical. Merlin was disappointed and apologetic but Arthur found it reassuring that Merlin- the most powerful of sorcerers- could not in every instance simply imagine something then snap his fingers to make it so. In the end, Arthur had no doubt that Merlin would come up with something to improve matters with his magic. Elyan had suggested enchanted pigeons and- for all Arthur knew- that would turn out to be a fruitful idea. In the meanwhile Arthur would continue to pursue non-magical avenues like increasing the number and frequency of patrols, building roads and improving commerce.

“Well,” Gareth went on. “Iseldir continued his strange visits. In some places I was made welcome, I was ignored in others and sometimes I was very much unwelcome. I did my best, though, to answer any questions put to me honestly and to be useful in any way I could.” Gareth paused and looked at Arthur, clearly seeking approval.

Arthur responded with a nod of encouragement. He had pressed the point about being useful very hard when he had spoken to Gareth. Looking back, he might have pressed it harder than was necessary. At that time, Arthur was still mired in the consequences of Merlin’s confessions. Every question became about usefulness and purpose. Arthur had still been struggling to figure out what his relationship with Merlin was- not personally, though that didn’t make anything any easier- but what they were as forces in the world. The question was: what was Arthur, what good was he, what use did he have if everything he said or did was subject to Merlin’s mercurial magic? Arthur had feared his impact on the world was no more than writing on water and he had resented it with soul piercing anguish. Quickly Arthur gestured for Gareth to continue.

“Weeks passed and I came to know Iseldir. He was kind to me and patient. He even offered to try and teach me a spell.”

“Did you take him up on it?” Elyan asked, peering to get a better look at Gareth as though there might be something different about him. 

Grinning Gareth looked at Arthur again, as pleased as a child who has been asked a difficult question but still knows the answer. “I said I would try to learn on condition that I could teach him something.”

“What could you teach him?” Elyan asked, unclear about what sort of information Gareth might have that would be worth a spell.

“I taught him cards.” Gareth answered, immensely pleased with himself. “He was a better student than I was, though. Apparently, I have very little capacity to acquire magic.” Gareth did not sound particularly disappointed by this.

“Iseldir said that, with great concentration, I ought to just manage a spark but I never did. He did not let me stop trying, though. He said I would not be free of him until I had done it at least once.” Gareth stopped suddenly and blinked rapidly.

Arthur listened to Gareth with a wrenching sense of the pain of that time. ‘Don’t let the Druids lure you into their debt,’ he had said. ‘Return the full measure of what you are given and don’t offer anyone anything you’re not prepared to lose. Listen to what is unspoken as carefully as to what is spoken. Lies are in what a person intends to be heard more than in what is said.’ Arthur’s words had been born from bitter anger and raw hurt but Gareth had somehow heard them in a spirit of generous reciprocity.

Kay had been right about Gareth. Somehow, like a stone skipping across a river the young knight’s mind glided over sarcasm, bitterness and spite to arrive at whatever meaning might be left. At the time, Arthur was certain that he would find Gareth unendurably annoying and he had planned to make their meeting as short as was practicable. 

He had not found Gareth annoying, though. Instead, Arthur was a bit reminded of Lancelot. He found in Gareth’s company a small sense of respite from the feeling of constant threat that Arthur experienced around those who had so recently been his shelter. The interview had stretched for several hours and it might have gone longer if the Voice had not come to tell Arthur how contemptible it was for a would-be leader of men to seek solace from a worshipful child and ‘was it not pathetic enough to have the dog?’. 

A tremor shook its way through Arthur’s body and he gritted his teeth against it. This was what was left of the Saxon fire, an involuntary shivering and a terrible pain in his chest that accompanied certain memories. It did not abate with anger but it would subside quickly enough if Arthur could distract himself from it. Resolutely Arthur ignored the shuddering. If he allowed himself to think of it as a sign of weakness there would be no getting rid of it.

Oblivious to Arthur’s dark thoughts Gareth, whose recent words had reawakened his sense of urgency, went on quickly. “He is our ally, Sire. In the time I spent with him he spoke constantly of a prophesied future of peace and harmony where the magical and non-magical thrived together, not at the other’s expense. He believed that Camelot was necessary to this process.”

“So what has happened?” Arthur asked softly. So far, Gareth had only had good news but for him to have been found here and in this state, without any sign of Iseldir something had to have gone wrong. Arthur found himself hoping for Gareth’s sake that this story was not going to end with Iseldir’s death. The young knight had clearly grown attached.

“Four days ago we were on our way to the Druid’s gathering.” Gareth said swallowing. “Five mounted men came upon us unexpectedly riding at speed. Iseldir told me to run for the cover of the trees that were just a short distance from the path we had been walking on. I thought he meant to come with me but when I turned I saw that he was holding his ground. Then, I thought that he had some magic he meant to work that would not distinguish friend from foe and so I moved a little further away. As the lead horseman approached Iseldir raised his hand but before aught could come of it the horseman threw something on the ground at Iseldir’s feet. There was a tremendous bang and then Iseldir was surrounded by thick black smoke.”

“I started to run back to him but several of the horsemen were armed with crossbows. One shot but I was able to reach the trees before another could take aim. No one pursued me. I watched as the men dismounted and went to Iseldir. The smoke was already clearing but Iseldir was still coughing violently. The men blindfolded him and they gagged him before he even had a proper chance to clear his lungs. They had brought a spare horse and they tied Iseldir to it then rode off.”

“I followed as best I could from cover and on foot. By the evening of that day, Iseldir had been brought to an old Roman fortress- less than a mile from here. The men went in and I have not seen anyone come out since. The only indication that the fortress is inhabited is that there is always a man posted at the only guard tower that remains standing. I have seen what I could of the fortress’s defenses but I could not get closer without being noticed.”

“Three days ago, I saw two boys emerge from the woods and go in. They have not come out either. Since then, I have been waiting and hoping for some sign that a rescue might be attempted. Maybe I should have gone for help but . . . I did not know what would be best and I didn’t want to leave.”

“And no one has left the fortress since you have been here?” Arthur asked, brows drawn together in thought.

“I did not see anyone and I don’t think I would have missed it, Sire.”

“Why were you and Iseldir going to the gathering so early?” Leon was looking for explanations of what might have happened. Iseldir had clearly been the target of the attack and his captors had been prepared to deal with his magic. What had the Druid’s plans been and who had known of them?

“We were not going early. Iseldir intended that we should arrive the evening before the Council was going to meet.

“But, the meeting begins tomorrow.” Leon was puzzled.

“No, this is . . .” Gareth paused and counted under his breath. “This would be the third day of the meeting.”

“Alator may have been mistaken.” Leon said to Arthur over Gareth’s head.

“Plans may have changed.” Arthur replied in the tone of one who will rigorously explore every option before coming to the conclusion he had been certain of from the beginning.

“Did you have any of the Druids with you, Sire? Or- maybe- is Merlin here?” Gareth peered around as though he thought Merlin might suddenly appear from behind the nearest tree. “A bit of magic might prove useful.”

“There’s just us.” Elyan gave Gareth an encouraging smile which was returned. Apparently the news that they were alone was not unduly dispiriting.

Arthur regarded Gareth speculatively. One day, sorcerers would ride with his knights. Hawks and hounds would hunt together. That was what lay at the end of the road he had set his kingdom on. Gareth was apparently more than ready for that future now. Arthur ought to be pleased. He was pleased. He had just thought that it would take a little longer.

“Show us this fortress, Gareth.” Arthur pushed away these musings along with the beginnings of a sick dread that Merlin and Gawain might have started to encounter their own problems. “We’ll make our plans from there.”


	14. Chapter 14

If his opinion had been solicited that morning, Gawain would have suggested that Leon would be a better choice to accompany Merlin to meet the Druids. Leon had more diplomatic skill, as illustrated by his capacity to stand still and hold a somber expression for hours without complaining. 

As long as he was being asked, Gawain would have said that it was probably not a good idea to separate at all. Merlin hadn’t wanted it and really what was the worst the Druids would do if they were all a day late. Nothing happened on the first day with these sorts of things anyway.

No one had sought Gawain’s advice though. So, the knight found himself riding in companionable silence beside Merlin as the two followed the directions that Alator had given them. It was late afternoon and as long as they hadn’t gotten lost they should arrive at their destination within the hour.

“Do you suppose there will be a feast?” Gawain asked breaking the silence. There was always a feast and yet nothing about Alator or any of the- admittedly few- Druids Gawain had encountered made him think they were capable of abundance. It was especially disappointing because the stories told in taverns had led Gawain to expect dancing, singing and scantily clad fey young women unencumbered by the drearier aspects of morality. 

“I suppose so- I mean, maybe.” Merlin answered absently. The man had been preoccupied all day. Gawain bit his lip, uncertain what to say to cheer Merlin up. He even wondered if he ought to try and cheer Merlin up. Maybe Merlin shouldn’t be distracted from whatever thoughts were currently tumbling through his head.

Shifting in his saddle, Gawain resisted the urge to sigh. He wished again that Leon was here. What was Arthur thinking? He knew Gawain was twitchy when there was blurring between Merlin and Emrys. Dread weighted his belly like a stone.

It had been all right when he and Merlin had gone to see Alator. Merlin had remained Merlin but this would be different. The Druids wanted Emrys. Gawain wondered if Merlin would appear as the old man. Gawain hated the old man but he would rather deal with him than watch Merlin behave like him.

This was Arthur’s fault. It was true that Leon and Merlin weren’t really speaking but that wouldn’t have stopped either one of them from working together. They both loved proving how much they could sacrifice. When Arthur and Gawain had talked together the evening before Merlin and Gawain went to meet with Alator Gawain had thought Arthur understood. That he knew not only how Gawain felt but how Gawain would feel. 

Where was all that insight now? It was as if Arthur had just thought, ‘oh send Gawain with Merlin. They’re mates. Gawain certainly won’t mind standing around like a glass of milk in an alehouse while his best friend dons a mantle of godlike power to hobnob with his fellow deities. There’s no way that could undermine a person’s sense of connection with his friend or hurt a man’s pride.’ Bloody stupid Arthur! Hadn’t he said himself that this sort of thing injured friendships? Did the smug bastard mean to prove it to Gawain as punishment for all those times Gawain had mocked him for his aloofness?

But then, hadn’t Arthur said that Merlin was particularly vulnerable among the Druids? Merlin, who had found strength and safety in his secrets, was now revealed and exposed before strangers. These strangers coveted Merlin’s power. Perhaps they sought to control it or perhaps they sought to abase themselves before it but in either case that was their only interest in him. Merlin must be out of his mind with nervousness- even fear. Emrys wasn’t going to sit around with his Druid friends congratulating themselves on their magic and poking fun at lesser mortals. That was Gawain’s paranoia glutted on the magnitude of Merlin’s power and the intentional air of mystery and exclusivity that the Druids cultivated.

Shaking his head as though to clear it, Gawain forced himself to stop seeing threats or insults where there were none. Gawain glanced over to Merlin. The sorcerer’s head was bent and he was fretfully twisted his reins- much to his horse’s annoyance. Gawain had been sent to protect Merlin and support him. That wasn’t meant as a joke- even if Gawain was a joke to people like Alator, even if Gawain himself had no idea what sort of protection he could offer among people who disdained the things Gawain had always seen as his great strengths. Gawain would try, though. Of course, he would. But this should be the last time. 

Gawain valued his friendship with Merlin as much as anything else in his life. But that friendship was imperiled by the nature and the extent of Emrys’s power. Maybe if Gawain had a stronger character or was a better friend then that would be different but Gawain didn’t think so. There was no way to be friends with someone who could destroy you with little more than a thought. It was an insult to a man’s sense of autonomy and instinct for self-preservation to pretend otherwise.

“If there is a feast, do you think there will be ale?” Gawain asked though it had been several minutes since anyone had spoken.

“I imagine so.”

“Do you think Alator will get drunk?”

Merlin laughed. “I don’t think that’s likely.”

“It would do him a world of good you know.” Gawain opined. “I was given to expect revels, Merlin.”

“Who led you to expect revels?” Merlin was smiling.

“Everyone. The world at large. I want fertility rituals and chanting. I want debauchery and the heady intoxication that comes from an encounter with the mystical. Where’s the showmanship? Do the Druids care nothing for their reputations?”

“Well, perhaps-“ Merlin didn’t finish. 

They had crested a hill and were greeted with a scene out of fable. Half a dozen concentric circles outlined by massive pillars of stones radiated outward from the center of the field below. Other stone circles enclosed portions of the concentric circles. Enormous trees took the place of the stone pillars at seven points. The trees were larger than anything Gawain had ever seen. Half a dozen men with arms outstretched could not have enclosed the trunk. Fires burned in the center of each circle and in some circles there were slabs of stone laid out like altars. Surrounding all this were canopies of blue and silver silks. Pavilions that beggared anything Gawain had seen at any tournament completed the perimeter. 

Gawain could see people dressed in chalk white robes moving among the stones. There were still several hours of daylight but they were carrying torches. The acrid smell of smoke combined with the scent of apples and perhaps something else as well wafted up to them. 

The scent evoked a sudden powerful memory in Gawain. He had been young, standing in the courtyard of his father’s castle. There was some celebration. The peasants were laughing around huge fires. Gawain smelled smoke and apples and the same something else. He had wanted to go join the laughing people but his mother held his hand and would not let him go.

“God.” Gawain breathed. “Is that real, Merlin? Because I take it all back about the Druids not living up to their reputation.”

For several moments, Merlin could do no more than stare at the scene below. The color of his eyes flickered like candlelight. “There’s a glamour.” 

“So . . .?”

“There’s a glamour. Everything is not quite as, as big as it seems.” Merlin struggled for words then gave Gawain an apologetic shrug. 

“It does seem awfully big.” Gawain murmured. His gaze swept the Druid encampment looking for some hint of artifice but he found none.

“Shall we go down?” Merlin asked.

Gawain nodded and the two started toward the edge of the massive camp. Before the two came to the first lavish pavilion they were met by Messenger. The man was still not wearing a shirt, Gawain noticed peevishly, but he had apparently put in some effort for the occasion. His hair was neatly tied back and his beard had been trimmed. He also wore metal vambraces that had been etched and painted with a design that gave Gawain a headache when he looked at it.

“My lord,” Messenger greeted Merlin. “Will you please come with me? Lord Alator is currently speaking with his fellow delegates but he would wish to welcome you as soon as you arrive.”

As soon as Merlin nodded his assent another Druid appeared to take charge of their horses. Gawain surrendered his reins without argument but he wished he had a better idea of where the horses were being taken. He was certain he would find nothing in this sprawling, glamoured camp unless he was led to it.

Following Messenger Gawain reached out and let his fingers slide over the embroidered side of a pavilion. “That feels real enough.” Gawain commented to Merlin. As they came near a massive stone that marked one of the many circles Gawain had seen from a distance he jumped to touch the highest point he could reach. “That too.”

“Why would you think your hands would be more difficult to deceive than your eyes?” Messenger asked without turning to look at Gawain.

“That’s an excellent point succinctly put.” Gawain forced cheerfulness into his words. “I applaud the attention to detail.”

Messenger said nothing more. 

Gawain wanted to batter the other man with incessant, upbeat chat because he knew how unendurable that could be, but words would not come. Messenger’s comment had thrown him off-balance and though Gawain wanted to strike back- even provoke a fight- he felt strangely unsure of himself. Add to that the fact that Merlin was giving Gawain an intense ‘leave it alone’ look and Gawain remained quiet.

After a long walk, Messenger stopped on the outside of the centermost circle of stone. Though yards separated each stone from the next, Gawain found that he could not see into the circle. His gaze slid away when he tried to look and he felt dizzy.

Time passed. Gawain was just starting to wonder if someone ought to say something when Alator emerged from within the circle. The Druid had an air of controlled excitement as he strode up to Merlin and bowed deeply.

“My lord, you are here. Welcome.” Alator greeted.

“Thank you.” Merlin answered but his expression displayed confusion. “What can we do to prepare for tomorrow? Arthur should be coming- there was an unavoidable delay- but what can I do in the meantime. It- it seems like everyone has already assembled?”

“Yes, my lord.” Alator reached out to put a hand on Merlin’s arm. “It is great good fortune that you have arrived. The council is almost ready to decide. There will be a moment soon when you should come forward.”

“Wait. What?” Merlin asked at the same time as Gawain said “Hey!”

Alator gave Gawain a withering look before returning his attention to Merlin. “Your presence should suffice, my lord. No more is required of you.”

“No, wait. The gathering hasn’t started yet. It’s too soon for anyone to start making decisions.” With effort Merlin wrestled the panic out of his voice and he spoke with as much authority as Gawain had ever heard from him. “What is happening, Alator?”

“My lord, this is the Mór Cruinniú’s third day. There is not much time. I must return to the other delegates but you will have the chance to come forward before the final tally is made and our course set.”

“No. This can’t be the third day. You said-“

“My lord, that is not important now. The council is deciding.” Alator’s tone made it clear he was not about to offer any explanations.

“But Arthur’s not here. The delegates- Arthur must have a chance to talk to them.” Merlin insisted.

“You are here. No one else matters.” Smiling, Alator reached for Merlin’s arm again and squeezed it gently. “I will return soon, my lord. Have no worries.” With that Alator turned and stepped back into the shrouded circle.

Turning in a full circle, Merlin surveyed Gawain, Messenger and the stones before him with a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “How can this be the third day?” He demanded of the world generally.

“Alator must have gotten it wrong. Or maybe he was lying.” Gawain offered. Logically those were the only alternatives and Gawain knew which he thought was the more likely.

“So what’s to be done now?” Merlin asked throwing up his hands.

Instantly Gawain moved to put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. Alator was right about that much. The Druids will make the right decision.”

“But, what am I supposed to do?” Merlin spoke softly and turned toward Gawain and away from Messenger.

“I don’t think you have to do anything. I think it’s just about who you are. These sorts of things are always exercises in power not persuasion. The Druids aren’t going to try and oppose you. You’re an irresistible force even without the. . .” Gawain waved his hand and wiggled his fingers. His intention had been to reassure but Merlin looked as though Gawain’s words had saddened him. His shoulders slumped a little and he nodded in resignation. Gawain squeezed Merlin’s shoulder again.

“Who’s that?”

Gawain looked up at Merlin’s question. The two had stood together in silence for several minutes each wandering in his own thoughts. Following the direction of Merlin’s gaze, Gawain saw a man- a knight to judge by his armor- leaning against one of the stones describing the circle which enclosed them. He was facing away from Merlin and Gawain and he appeared to be gazing up at the sky.

“He waits to bring word of the Mór Cruinniú’s decisions to his mistress.” Messenger answered.

Gawain’s hackles rose. “Morgana?”

“The Lady Morgana Pendragon has an interest in these proceedings even as her brother does.” Messenger spoke with infuriating equanimity.

“Gawain!” Merlin called but it was too late. Gawain was spoiling for a fight and one of Morgana’s minions would absolutely suit.

“Hey! I have something you can pass along to your mistress.” Gawain shouted as he stalked toward Morgana’s knight.

Hearing Gawain’s challenge the other man turned. Gawain stopped and almost seemed to rock backward a moment. Then he snarled and leapt. Gawain landed one hard blow to the knight’s face and he was just pulling back to land another when Merlin caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

“You treacherous bastard!” Gawain shook Merlin off and shoved the knight who he had recognized as Accolon as hard as he could. “You joined Morgana!”

“Hello, Gawain.” Accolon said with a smile that had Gawain reaching for the other man so that he could shake him. Rage boiled inside Gawain. It made no sense how anyone at all would serve Morgana, vicious madwoman that she was, but Accolon had been one of them, a knight of Camelot. They had eaten together, drunk together, laughed. Accolon and Gawain might have been friends. They had certainly been comrades. What terrible perfidy could drive a man to turn away from Camelot and toward Morgana.

“Gawain, stop it.” Merlin tried again to pull Gawain away.

“He tried to kill Arthur, Merlin. He tried with all of us right there and no one saw it because we trusted him.” Gawain shouted the last four words into Accolon’s face. It must have taken a lot of nerve. It must have taken massive disdain for people who had only ever been friends for Accolon to walk up and stick a knife into the king and then convince everyone it had been a terrible accident. It had probably been Morgana’s idea. She was always daring in her treachery.

“Is Arthur all right?” The question was spoken so innocently with so much apparent concern that Gawain lunged for Accolon again breaking away from Merlin’s hold as though he wasn’t there.

“Stop.” Merlin repeated pushing himself in front of Gawain and letting the man see a warning shimmer of gold in his eyes.

The implied threat surprised and hurt him but Gawain stepped back. He became aware of Messenger watching them impassively. He took a breath and then another. 

“Is being Morgana’s lapdog worth betraying Camelot?” Gawain was still angry but he was calming down.

“My lady is generous to her servants.” Accolon answered and disgust welled up inside Gawain.

“You stupid, miserable-“

“Gawain,” Merlin broke in and caught Gawain’s shoulder striving to capture the man’s complete attention. “He can’t help it.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, he can h-“ The bottom dropped out of Gawain’s stomach. Slowly, almost fearfully, Gawain looked at Accolon. His left eye was beginning to swell but he regarded Gawain with polite attention. The innocence Gawain had found so infuriating had not been feigned. 

“Are you angry with me?” Accolon asked and he sounded confused as though he would be sorry if Gawain were angry with him but he could think of no reason why he would be.

“Can’t you- can’t you fix him?” Gawain asked Merlin, unable to tear his eyes from Accolon’s face.

“There’s nothing left to fix. He’s gone.”

“Oh.” Gawain took a step back and then another. “I’m sorry.” He said thickly to Accolon before turning and walking rapidly away.

Gawain did not manage to get far enough to avoid hearing Accolon say, “Is Gawain all right, Merlin.”

After managing a few more steps, Gawain stopped and leaned heavily on a glamoured stone. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a drink more than he did in that moment. When had it happened? Could it have been as far back as Morgana’s last attack on Camelot? Maybe it had been more recent. Had Morgana found Accolon on patrol separated from his friends and sewn her mischief in him then? Could someone have noticed and stopped it if they’d known what to look for?

Morgana had shown an interest in Gawain when she and her mercenaries held Camelot. She had singled him out as a special toy. His defiance had amused her. She had mostly confined herself to tormenting him physically and threatening his friends to make sure he played her games, though. What would have happened when she lost interest in that? Would she just have killed him or would she have found other games? It could have been him. God help him, Accolon could have been him.

A shadow fell across the stone Gawain had been leaning on and then he felt Merlin’s hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Gawain shook his head. “Evil bitch.”

“I don’t think she intended- I don’t think Morgana thought about what she was doing to Accolon. She just saw it as a way to get something she wanted.” Merlin said sadly.

“What do you think evil is, Merlin?” Gawain shot back and instantly regretted it. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s like you said Accolon is gone. She’s not hurting him anymore.” 

Some of the people who had known Morgana before her betrayal had been revealed continued to feel ambivalent about her. Gawain had seen this in Guinevere and Leon. Sometimes he saw it in Arthur. It was as though they still wanted to protect her, make excuses for her. They wanted there to be a way she could be forgiven. They couldn’t believe that they had been so completely deceived by someone they loved or they could not believe a person was capable of changing so dramatically. Gawain felt about as ambivalent about Morgana as he would about a rabid dog. She was mad and dangerous and the sooner she was put down the better off everyone would be. He tried to be tolerant though of his friends’ lingering affection.

In Merlin’s case it would be more than a residual sense of loyalty toward Morgana that would have caused Gawain’s words to hurt him. Merlin took too much on himself. He tended to feel responsible for every evil use of magic and Gawain could see now that Merlin felt guilty. It wasn’t his fault but he felt guilty. Gawain wished Merlin wouldn’t take all of the evil done by magic so personally.

Feeling guilty for having made Merlin feel guilty, Gawain turned to look at Accolon again. The man had gone back to his former place. He stood still gazing up at the sky. “Accolon- the real Accolon- is past hurting, I know. Still, I wish I hadn’t hit him.” Gawain couldn’t help but murmur. 

“He won’t remember it and he wouldn’t hold a grudge even if he did.” Merlin offered trying to give comfort.

Gawain found this not at all comforting but he refrained from saying as much. Night was falling and the slow fade into darkness suited Gawain’s mood.

“My lord?”

The sound of Alator’s voice sounded preternaturally loud in the silence and it startled Gawain enough that a quick shiver ran through him.

“Yes.” Merlin pushed himself up from where he and Gawain had been leaning against a glamored stone. Gawain scrambled up as well.

“It’s time.” Alator spoke in his usual grave and steady voice but Gawain could feel the anticipation radiating from the man yards away.

“Right. Uh, what do I do?” Merlin asked

“You need do nothing.” Alator spoke gently. “Just come with me, my lord.”

Nodding Merlin turned toward Gawain. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Sure.” Gawain answered with a smile of encouragement. “No one else can do what you can, Merlin. The Druids know that better than anyone. They won’t dare cross you.”

“Thanks,” Merlin murmured trying to take confidence from Gawain’s words even though Merlin wasn’t sure he liked the man those words described. 

“Listen, Gawain, you know you can’t . . .” Merlin’s eyes shifted to Accolon. “He’s beyond helping, all right?”

“I won’t cause trouble.” Gawain promised. It had occurred to Gawain that there was something he could do for Accolon but Merlin was right. The last thing they needed was for the Druids to see one of Camelot’s knights murder one of their guests at their Mór Cruinniú. Gawain would find another time to take away Morgana’s toy and stop the desecration of his comrade’s remains.

After studying his friend a moment, Merlin nodded. Then, he turned to Alator, “I’m ready.”

The air shimmered as Gawain watched Merlin and Alator disappear within the center circle. Overcome by a sudden restlessness, Gawain started to pace around the circle. Messenger followed. Gawain ignored him. Accolon stared up at the sky.  
*  
From the shadow of the tree line, the old Roman fortress appeared much as it had been described. The palisade was gone and three of the four guard towers were in ruin. The walls were high though and the iron and wood gate looked solid. There was a section of the west wall that had caved in years back but very recently an attempt had been made to rebuild it. The repair looked shoddy but it was likely further reinforced from the inside by larger beams. It was also likely to be the most closely guarded section of the wall.

“The Romans built things to last.” Leon remarked as he and Arthur made a third circuit around the structure.

Feeling the inconvenience of that fact, Arthur sighed. “Is the guard tower in bow range for you?”

Leon squinted up at the tower. As he watched, a man could be seen moving about. If the intention of the fortress inhabitants was to make it appear as though the fortress were unoccupied then that goal was undermined as the guard occasionally emerged from the safety of the arrow slitted tower to stroll the parapet. 

“I could hit him.” Leon shaded his eyes and continued to stare upward. “I don’t know that I could kill him with the first shot.”

That was more or less what Arthur had guessed and so he made no comment. The situation looked bleak. There was no way to assault the fortress without alerting the defenders. Even if Leon was able to kill the guard without giving the alarm, it would take long minutes to get through the gate and that would give the defenders plenty of opportunity to pick them off from the safety of the walls. More than that, if the defenders had warning then their prisoners would become hostages. Arthur wanted to avoid that if he could.

“They can’t stay in there forever.” Leon observed. “Even if there are no more men than those Gareth followed, they still have horses and prisoners. Gareth says no one has come out in more than three days so they must be low on supplies.”

“I don’t want to wait this out. They could be waiting for reinforcements for all we know.” Arthur was also concerned about the prisoners. He couldn’t imagine what they wanted Iseldir for but he presumed it would be nasty. Then there were the boys. They had stumbled into something and the temptation would be strong to permanently ensure their silence.

“Even if they are as undermanned as we hope we are too few ourselves for a successful assault.” Leon said, liking the situation no better than Arthur.

“Not without losing men, certainly.” Arthur agreed

“Even with more men, even with Roman siege engines to breakdown the Roman walls we would lose soldiers, Arthur.”

“I don’t know that the Romans would have bothered with the ballistae or the mangonels. They would have just sent their general out to tell the defenders to give up their prisoners and surrender or else.” Arthur was beginning to feel frustrated. He wanted inside that fortress.

“We could try that.” Leon sounded dubious but unwilling to reject an idea out of hand. “We would benefit from a greater show of force, though, if we hope to bluff them.”

“I don’t want to wait for reinforcements from Camelot. The Druids are closer but . . .” Arthur did not want the Druids’ help for a number of reasons some of which were entirely legitimate.

“These men have shown themselves able to deal with magic, Sire.” Leon did not want the Druids help either. He was especially concerned because if the men in the fortress did indeed have a means of defending themselves against magic then that means had to be secured for Camelot.

“Yes. And isn’t that interesting. If these men can nullify the Druids’ magic then the Druids cannot help us and we are right back where we started. I should not have been so quick to dismiss the ballistae.” Arthur said wryly.

As Arthur and Leon continued to reconnoiter, Arthur thought about the famous sieges and siege tactics. If a city or a fortress could not be won by a swift and invariably bloody assault then the only alternative was a slow drawn out process of grinding the defenders down, battering them and starving them until the walls came down or they surrendered. Neither option was satisfactory to Arthur. Truthfully he didn’t have the resources for either. That fortress could have sheltered a century of men, maybe two in its time. Five men could not take it- even if no more than five men held it. There had to be another way. . . and there was. Arthur stopped abruptly.

“What’s the third way to take a city?” Arthur asked Leon. An idea had occurred to him and he couldn’t decide if it was clever or mad.

Leon had stopped when Arthur had and now he regarded his King with patient eyes. “Sire?”

“A direct assault which we don’t have the men for and would put the prisoners at risk; starvation and attrition which we don’t have the men or the time for and would still put the prisoners at risk and . . .?”

Leon shook his head.

“And subterfuge.” Arthur said clearly pleased with himself.

“Does that help us, Sire?” Leon asked. It was true that some of the most famous sieges of all time had ended that way but Leon did not see how it could be applied here.

“It might. Let’s go back to the others and in the meantime you can tell me what you think.”

When Arthur and Leon returned from their sortie they found Elyan keeping watch as Gareth slept. Percival had spotted a deer darting through the wood and it had been too good an opportunity to let pass. He had promised though that if he did not catch it quickly then he would give up the chase and come back.

The plan, which Leon had considered ponderously and pronounced possible, would depend mostly on Elyan and Gareth. Arthur had known this but watching Gareth sleep and listening to Elyan explain Percival’s whereabouts in such a way as to mollify Arthur if he were inclined to be irritated by the big man’s absence, Arthur suddenly had misgivings. They were the same misgivings Arthur always felt when sending men into danger but he pushed them down. This was what he did. He took risks with other people’s lives. If he was going to let the fact that these men were young- that he cared about them- that they were very nearly, something akin to, almost friends change his decisions he had no business being king.

When Percival returned to the others, flushed, smiling smugly and carrying a deer over his shoulder he found Elyan, who had taken off all his armor, tearing away the collar of his shirt. His confusion was compounded as he noticed Gareth, who had also taken off his armor, critically examining the bloodstains on his shirt and standing next to Leon who was rummaging through his pack. Arthur was walking around looking at Gareth and Elyan from different angles and distances.

“I’ve missed something.” Percival murmured as his brain searched for a set of facts that might possibly have brought about the tableau before him.

“Percival,” Arthur strode over to the big knight. “If you were to see Elyan and Gareth from a distance would you think they were knights of Camelot?”

Percival shook his head in the negative.

Arthur smiled. “Would you assume they were simple villagers?”

“Maybe?”

Leon had apparently found what he had been looking for and handed Gareth one of his own shirts, which Gareth put on. It was much too large. Percival wouldn’t have been able to say what he thought Gareth and Elyan looked like.

“Well, hopefully it will be close enough.” Arthur said as he turned to give Percival more of his attention. “Oh good, you caught the deer. That will help.”

“Sire?”

“Rita’s nephews just walked into the fortress.” Arthur finally started explaining. “There was probably an ambush waiting for them but the door was not bolted against them. They must have been seen but the people inside the fortress did not shoot at them from the guard tower nor did they try to keep them out. If two unsuspecting village boys can wander up here then why not two more?”

“Gareth and Elyan?” Percival had caught the gist and he looked at Gareth and Elyan again with his new understanding. 

“They are the most plausible candidates.” The goal was to send men who would appear non-threatening- people a man might not be willing to shoot on sight, but that was the risk. Arthur would have liked to go instead of Gareth or Elyan but that would not be something Leon would permit without a vigorous protest. The others might even join Leon in his protest. 

Arthur did not want to have that fight now- not ever really. Even if he won the argument, it would appear like Arthur had overruled his First Knight’s advice in order to seek danger to feed his ego or to assuage his guilt and if he lost the argument, well, then he would have lost the argument. Arthur tried to unclench his teeth. It was more practical for Gareth and Elyan to go anyway. Hadn’t Merlin said that all of Arthur’s attempts to appear other than he was were doomed to failure. Yes, it was the right decision that Gareth and Elyan go.

Unaware of the mix of emotions churning in Arthur’s brain, Percival nodded. “What happens after they let our boys in?”

“Leon shoots the guard on the tower and Gareth and Elyan hold the gate long enough for the rest of us to join them.” Arthur shrugged. “With luck all the defenders will have gathered in the courtyard and we can take them all at once. We can’t give them the opportunity to harm Iseldir or Rita’s nephews.”

“There’s the five Gareth has seen. Do you think there are more than that?” Percival asked.

“I think there are more.” Arthur answered. “They would not have gone out to kidnap Iseldir and left their base undefended.”

“There can’t be that many more, though?” Leon put in. “They’ll likely have as many horses as men, plus Iseldir, plus the boys and they’ve already been in there at least three days. They can’t have enough stores for so many.”

Percival smiled. “They’ll be more likely to let Elyan and Gareth come in if they’ve got some fresh meat.”

“Let’s hope so.” Arthur murmured.

While Arthur, Percival and Leon had been talking, Elyan and Gareth had been examining various sticks that had littered the forest floor testing out each one for its possible use as a quarterstaff. With their new weapons in hand, the two approached the group. They were both grinning.

“We’re ready.” Elyan announced.

“All right.” Arthur felt adrenaline begin to pump. “It will take less than a minute for us to get to you once you’re through so you must hold the gate until then. They will be expecting to ambush you so they may have weapons drawn but they won’t be expecting you to fight back.”

From the concealment of the trees Arthur, Leon and Percival watched Elyan and Gareth’s progress toward the fortress. Arthur was impressed even as he worried. Gareth and Elyan walked casually, taking plenty of time, as they appeared to talk back and forth. Elyan shifted his shoulders as though the deer was nearly too heavy for him. Gareth laughed and appeared to offer to take it. Elyan shook his head and shifted his shoulders again. Neither man looked toward the guard tower where the sentry stood. They were seen quickly and Leon kept his crossbow trained in the direction of the tower as the guard darted quickly out of sight.

“Is he calling the others?” Percival asked bouncing on the balls of his feet. No one knew so no one answered but a few seconds later the guard was back. He was mostly hidden but as Elyan and Gareth moved closer, the guard had to move to keep them in view. Leon had a good shot but he would wait just a little longer.

Then, Elyan and Gareth had arrived at the gate. Gareth reached out and pushed at the iron-studded door. The moment it became clear that the door was not barred, Elyan dropped the deer and he and Gareth both rammed their shoulders against it, pushing it wide open.

Arthur started running. He knew that Leon was going to shoot the man on the tower but he did not wait to hear the snap of the crossbow. Both Percival and Arthur held a sword in each hand as they ran. Time stretched as the distance to the fortress did not diminish quickly enough. By the time he and Percival finally reached the gate it felt as though minutes not seconds had passed.

The first thing Percival took in was that Elyan and Gareth were both still on their feet. The next thing he took in was that there was a man fumbling to reload a crossbow. Percival yelled and charged. The man looked up to see a giant with two swords hurtling toward him. The bolt slipped from his grip even as one of Percival’s blades took him in the throat. With that threat gone, Percival turned toward Elyan who was already holding out his hand for his sword.

There had been eight men waiting for Elyan and Gareth as they came through the gate. Two were down before Arthur and Percival joined the fight. Five remained after Percival killed the man with the crossbow but these five were fighting with desperation. In almost the same motion Arthur tossed Gareth a sword and then threw his fist hard into the stomach of a man who had hoped to catch him as he was distracted. Doubling over the man stumbled sideways. Arthur stepped in to bring Excalibur down in a sweeping arc.

“No! I give up. Stop.” The man begged around painful breaths.

Arthur checked his swing and then quickly looked up to assess how the battle stood. As he did so the man who was still mostly curled on his side reached into his boot for a knife. He thrust it up blindly hoping to catch Arthur in the groin or lower belly. Arthur stumbled backward just ahead of the knife. Regaining his balance quickly Arthur kicked the man to gain the little distance necessary to bring Excalibur down a second time.

Pulling his sword free, Arthur saw that each of his knights had engaged a defender. In each case Arthur quickly determined that the knights had the advantage and so Arthur looked for the fifth defender. Arthur saw him edging along the fortress wall toward the ruins of the barracks.

Cursing, Arthur moved to cut him off. As soon as the man saw Arthur headed toward him he dropped his sword and pressed himself harder into the wall.

“Please don’t kill me.” The plea was little more than a whisper as the man held his hands out in a placating gesture. Again Arthur checked.

“Don’t move.” Arthur warned. He kept his sword raised as he turned slightly. The battle was ending. Camelot knights were the only ones still standing. Already Percival had started searching in any structure intact enough to offer a hiding place.

“It’s over. You see?” Arthur demanded. He saw nothing but fear and surrender in the other man but he would prefer not to be taken in by the same trick twice in succession. The man nodded and Arthur gestured him toward his victorious knights. 

“Is this all of you?” Arthur asked his prisoner as Elyan tied the man’s hands behind his back and shoved him down next to another man who had been knocked in the first moments of the attack by Gareth’s improvised quarterstaff and was only just coming back to his senses.

Inadvertently the man’s eyes moved toward the guard tower.

“Aside from him.” Leon had taken care of the sentry.

“Buime is with the prisoners.”

“Where are they?” Arthur felt his heart sink.

“Don’t help them, Ethan. They’re just going to kill us anyway. Let them fish for the Druids.” The second captured man told his comrade, giving them all a look of deep contempt.

Arthur ignored the second man. He took a step closer to the man who had so recently surrendered and asked as patiently as he was able. “Where are the Druids, Ethan?”

“Underground.” Ethan answered and then continued in a rush, “It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t know it was going be like this. It was just a chance to make a little money. The war was just going on and on and we thought this would be a way out . . .”

Before Ethan could continue he was interrupted by a shout.

“I’ve found them.” Percival called out from the granary. “They’re all right.” 

Smiling broadly, Percival led two dirty, bruised but still clearly healthy boys towards his comrades. He had found them trying to hide behind several barrels. Though they were clearly frightened, the boys had come to Percival easily enough when he had told them that their Aunt Rita had sent him and that he and his friends were going to take them home.

“What about Iseldir?” Gareth asked. He was looking around nervously as though he wished to start searching for Ilsedir immediately but he was too afraid he might miss important information.

All eyes turned toward Ethan who kept silent and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Where is Iseldir?” Arthur repeated. “You said one of your men was with him? Buime? You said they were underground?”

“We all had orders.” It was not Ethan who answered but his surly companion. “Someone had to stay with the Druids all the time and kill them if anyone attempted a rescue.”

Gareth began moving toward their smiling prisoner but Leon caught his arm bringing him up short. The young knight was shaking.

“Where?” Leon asked wearily.

Ethan’s companion had come to the conclusion that it would be more satisfying to tell the knights than to withhold the information. And, as opportunities for satisfaction looked likely to be scarce in the foreseeable future, the man determined to make the most of it. “There’s a trapdoor in the barracks. Your Druids are down there but Buime will have had time to cut their throats a dozen times over.”

“He might not have. You can’t hear anything down there.” Kivan and Luke had been following the conversation attentively from several feet behind Percival. Now Kivan had spoken up. Their first night at the fortress the two boys had been kept underground with the Druids and their reluctant guard. When the door had been closed and looked from inside the quiet was so oppressive that it seemed to muffle their own heartbeats. The next morning, the boys had been let out but told that if they caused trouble they would be sent right back down into the silent dark.

“He might not have done it anyway.” Ethan joined in. “Buime wouldn’t have wanted to do it. None of us liked the idea- not even Gearán.” Here Ethan turned his head to indicate his companion. Gearán gave him a dour look in recompense. “It’s just those were the orders.”

The question of whose orders, though it fired Arthur’s curiosity, was not immediately pursued. The hope that Iseldir and an as yet unknown number of other captive Druids might still be alive to rescue took precedence. Ethan and Gearán were both hauled to their feet. Gearán looked belligerent but did not otherwise resist as Elyan tied a gag around his mouth. 

The motley group made their way across the courtyard toward the three crumbling walls that described what remained of the barracks. At the periphery of the structure, Arthur signaled for Percival to wait with their less cooperative prisoner and the two boys.

“His shift doesn’t end for another few hours- and even then I’m not the one who is supposed to relieve him.” Ethan whispered nervously as they approached a heavy wooden trapdoor that had been set at the back wall of the barracks. “What do I say?”

“Think of something.” Gareth hissed unhelpfully.

The knights carefully arranged themselves around the room. Leon held Ethan by the arm so that he would be the first person anyone emerging from below would see. The others took flanking positions with swords drawn. As they did so Arthur wondered about the trapdoor. As far as he had ever been taught, the Romans hadn’t generally incorporated such things into their building. What could it have been used for? Storing wine, perhaps? Or had it been made to be a dungeon?

“You won’t kill me if I help you?” Ethan asked shifting his weight from side to side. Arthur’s palm itched but the genuine fear in Ethan’s eyes allowed him to be patient.

“I’ll certainly kill you, if you do anything to jeopardize the safety of the people we have come here to rescue.” Arthur spoke in a deliberately calm voice.

“Buime! Hey!” Ethan called loudly when it was clear he had been given all the reassurance he was going to get. “You still down there?”

Silence. Ethan licked his lips in preparation to call again but then a voice could be heard from below. 

“Ethan? What’s going on?” The man must have been shouting but his voice sounded oddly attenuated.

“A couple more villagers have wandered up. This time they brought fresh venison. I brought you some.” Nervousness sounded clearly in Ethan’s voice. Arthur’s knuckles were white as he gripped his sword.

Again there was another excruciating silence. Ethan’s eyes darted from face to face. His expression seemed to say, ‘I’ve done my best. It’s not my fault if he doesn’t believe it.’ 

Then there was the sound of scraping, metal along wood then stone. With a creak the wooden trapdoor began to lift. Everyone held his breath. In another moment a head emerged.

“That’s very decent of you.” Buime said to Ethan as he emerged into the light. At the same time it registered on Buime that Ethan did not have any venison two sword points appeared at his throat.

“Come up slowly,” Arthur ordered as Leon pushed the trapdoor all the way open.

Buime looked about. He took in the four armed men and the apologetic expression on Ethan’s face. He came up slowly.

Arthur waved for Percival to bring his charges into the room while Gareth strode purposefully toward the open trapdoor. Leon caught him by the arm and told him sternly to wait. Soon the three prisoners were all sitting against the barracks wall with their hands tied tightly behind their back. Luke and Kivan hovered a little distance away watching them closely. 

“It really isn’t our fault.” Ethan murmured again. “You don’t know the man we were dealing with.”

“Just be quiet.” Gareth snapped. Ethan’s protestations were making him sick with anxiety.

Pressing Gareth back Leon went to the edge of the trapdoor and gazed down. To his mild surprise there were stairs rather than the ladder he expected. The stairs descended at something like a sixty degree angle. Taking a breath he started downward. The pit was deep, more than ten feet. When Leon reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped forward he had no need to crouch. There was a lantern hanging on the wall. Leon took it and held it out in front of him.

Twelve metal cages hung from the ceiling swinging a good foot off the ground. Each cage was cylindrical and measured approximately five and a half feet high and three and a half feet wide. The bars that comprised the cage were a hand span apart and through the gaps Leon could make out human figures.

There was the sound of footsteps and then Arthur stood next to Leon looking out at the same scene. Together they moved to the first cage. Still a few steps from the cage Leon could make out Iseldir’s features. The Druid was watching them, eyes hungry for the little light they brought with them.

“Iseldir, we’re going to help you.” Arthur spoke gently as he and Leon looked for any way to open the cage. Iseldir blinked. Confusion crept over his expression and he blinked again.

“Iseldir!” Gareth shouted as soon as he came to the foot of the stair and saw the cages. Iseldir blinked again and Gareth reached for the Druid’s hand through the bars.

“Gareth?” Iseldir’s voice was low and gravelly but his confusion was beginning to clear.

“We’ll get you out. Don’t worry.” The young knight assured. As Gareth clutched the Druid’s hand Leon and Arthur continued to search for how the cage was supposed to open without success. Elyan soon joined them and after a moment’s examination the former blacksmith started to look around for anything that might be used as a crowbar.

“Gareth.” Iseldir repeated and then he made a sort of croaking sound that frightened Leon until he realized that the man was laughing. “Gareth, Leon and Arthur.” He croaked again.

“You should try to be quiet.” Leon advised, mostly because the sound of Iseldir’s laughter upset him. He was surprised that Iseldir had recognized him. They had met once when Iseldir had saved his life. While that event was very vivid in Leon’s memory, he had not expected the same would be true for Iseldir.

Elyan returned having found what was probably a girder from another cage. After examining the metal in several places, Elyan chose the most promising. As he worked Arthur found a second girder and joined in. Leon looked around but couldn’t find a third. He did find several torches, though. He lit one from the lantern and gave it to Gareth who was saying reassuring things to Iseldir. Leon then took a second torch to explore the other cages.

Of the dozen cages, only seven were occupied and two of those occupants had died. The remaining men and women were in varying stages of distress. Leon spoke to the ones who were conscious promising them imminent freedom. No one answered him. Leon wasn’t sure if this was because they were too weak and sick or because there wasn’t much two people could say to one another while one of them was locked in a cage.

“Leon!” Arthur called. The knights had managed to pry off two off the horizontal bands and now they were trying to pull the vertical bars far enough apart to let Iseldir through. Leon and Gareth pulled one of the bars while Arthur and Elyan pulled a second bar in the opposite direction. The cage swayed but the metal began to give. When the opening finally seemed wide enough, Gareth reached in and very carefully pulled Iseldir free. Iseldir cried out as his limbs unfolded. Leon wished there was a way to help without having to actually watch. There were four more cages to go.

Arthur and Elyan started on the next cage as Leon helped Gareth carry Iseldir up the steep stair. Luke and Kivan were sent to collect water, blankets and anything else that might possibly be useful from the fortress’s provisions. Gareth stayed with Iseldir and Percival and Leon went to help free the next prisoner.


	15. Chapter 15

It took several hours but eventually the three men and two women who had been kept in the cages were brought into the courtyard and given water and food if they were able to take it. The worst of the filth was washed away and they had been wrapped in blankets but no one knew what else might be done for them. 

Percival was sent to take Luke and Kivan back to the village and Elyan stood guard in the watchtower. Gareth watched over the Druids, all of whom had fallen asleep- or at least Leon hoped they were just sleeping.

Arthur caught Leon’s eye as he wiped his hands on a spare blanket. Arthur looked as grim as Leon had ever seen him. Leon wondered if he looked the same. He felt grim. Leon went to his King and the two made their way to where their three prisoners were huddled against the wall of the barracks their wrists and ankles tied.

Arthur had brought a canteen with him and he cut the rope around Ethan’s wrists so that he could drink and then help his companions to drink. The three drank thirstily until the canteen was empty. Leon retied Ethan’s hands.

“What has been going on here?” Arthur asked after the silence had been allowed to stretch.

“What do you care?” Gearán demanded. His voice had come out louder than he intended and thus sounded more defiant than he actually felt. “You’re from Camelot. You have no business here. Since when does anyone from Camelot care about what happens to a few Druids in Esectia. If anything you should be pleased.”

“You’re an idiot.” Leon couldn’t help but murmur. The man couldn’t have said anything less helpful to his cause if he had tried.

“You attacked one of my knights and abducted a man under his protection. You kidnapped two children from a village under my protection. You are the width and breadth of my business.” Arthur’s words cracked like a whip. 

The three men cringed back. 

“It wasn’t our fault.” Ethan said, not for the first time.

“Whose fault was it?” 

“Oh, no. Whoever you think you are, we’re all of us more scared of him then we’ll ever be of you. So, go ahead. Do your worst.” Gearán retorted and though it was clear they would have preferred if Gearán had phrased it differently the others were of much the same opinion.

“Well, that’s not unreasonable.” Arthur said mildly taking a step back. “I’m not going to try and convince you that I can do worse than whatever horror you’ve already been threatened with. You should be more afraid of him. I may decide to kill you but that’s the worst of it.”

“The question is,” Arthur went on, “do you think anything you say or don’t say right now will change what happens to you if you ever cross paths with your master again? It is a point in my favor that you’re less afraid of me.”

The three prisoners looked at each other uncertain what to make of this. “Do you promise you won’t kill us?” Ethan finally asked.

“No.”

“So why should we help you?” Gearán demanded exasperated.

“Because I didn’t lie to you.”

Gearán laughed. There was a hysterical edge to it but his amusement was genuine. “Fine. Why not?”

“Gearán?” Ethan was not at all amused. Buime just stared out across the courtyard mournfully.

“We’re buggered no matter what” Gearán said. “And I would rather hang than lose all my skin an inch at a time.”

So, Gearán with the occasional contribution from Ethan told Arthur and Leon how he and his fifteen comrades had fought for Queen Lannia- the true queen of Esectia, or at least she had been until her cousin had her head lopped off. After that they took to banditry. The armies whose rulers still had their heads were supplied by the surrounding country and it was easy to ambush the supply wagons. The band was doing well enough that they were approached with an offer.

Their employer never gave them his name. They addressed him as ‘lord’ to his face and Eyebrows behind his back. Eyebrows promised them great rewards if they would capture and hold a number of his enemies. The band would never have to face more than three or four at a time and they weren’t even asked to kill their victims.

“You were starving them to death!” Leon broke in. He had expected to hear a tale that slanted to the self-serving but there had been two dead in those cages and it was not certain that the others would all survive their ordeal.

“No, we weren’t.” Gearán insisted. “We fed them, gave them water, as good as what we got. It’s just that they couldn’t do their magic and they pined for it.”

Arthur and Leon exchanged a look. It had slipped to the back of their minds while they rescued the Druids but they both very much wanted to know how the bandits had managed to capture their magical victims in the first place. 

Gearán was permitted to go on and he explained how Eyebrows had told them when and where their victims would appear. He also gave them sealed clay pots that when thrown hard into the ground would explode into smoke and shrapnel. Coughing, deaf and blind the targeted Druids had not the time or wherewithal to summon their magic before the Bandits had them tightly secured. 

It had not always gone to plan, however. Once the pot did not explode and so the bandits had found themselves with more of a fight than they would have liked. They were facing one man though and they subdued him quickly. Not before the Druid had thrown one of their number into a tree hard enough to crack his skull, though. Another time the flames from the explosion caught the Druid’s robe and it burned with unnatural persistence. That man had died though the bandits did manage to capture his two companions.

They were only given one device per expedition and Gearán and Ethan both denied having any others. Leon believed them but he would search the fortress anyway. It was important to have as many option as possible should it be necessary- and honestly it was only a matter of time- to face enemies who had magical power.

Eyebrows came to the fortress several times to speak with his prisoners and to give the bandits more instructions. Eyebrows had also made sure that the fortress was well-provisioned including the iron cages and he had made repairs- nothing that would be obvious from the outside though. It was apparently a plan a long time in the making.

The bandits had last seen Eyebrows the day before he told them where and when to expect Iseldir. Eyebrows had said nothing about Gareth. Once they had Iseldir the bandits were meant to wait ten or eleven days inside the fortress. Then Eyebrows would return to pay them. In the meantime Eyebrows had insisted that no one was to be allowed to leave. Secrecy was of the utmost importance.

When asked why the men had not pursued Gareth, Gearán could only shrug and say that the knight’s presence had been a surprise. Eyebrows hadn’t known he was going to be there and so he probably wasn’t important. On top of that no one had really wanted to pursue the armed man into the forest. Certainly, if they had it to do over again . . .

When Kivan and Luke had appeared the bandits had argued what was to be done. Eyebrows would be furious if they let the boys return to their village with tales of the armed men who had taken the fortress. At the same time, no one really wanted to kill them and so they had decided to keep the boys around to do the washing and the cooking and the like. Leon asked what they thought would happen to the boys once Eyebrows returned but all Gearán could say was that then it would be out of their hands.

Arthur and Leon asked a half a dozen different ways but the bandits knew no more than that there was some sort of meeting that Eyebrows had wanted to stop particular people from attending. No one knew why. No one knew why Eyebrows had wanted prisoners rather than corpses. No one knew what Eyebrows meant to do when he returned. No one knew if Eyebrows had anticipated opposition to his plans- though his insistence on secrecy, keeping a constant guard and demanding that the prisoners’ throats be cut if there was a chance they might otherwise escape indicating that that was a possibility.

When it seemed as there was no more information to be wrung from the prisoners Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead and the skin along the bridge of his nose. Leon stood up straight from where he had been leaning against a hitching post. As the First Knight waited he surveyed the courtyard. There were no trees within the fortress itself.

“You three can go.” Arthur said finally and he gestured that Leon should cut the ropes holding the prisoners.

“Are you joking?” Gearán demanded in a voice thick with harshly restrained hope.

Leon reached out to smack the side of Gearán’s head but remembering the man’s concussion he checked the blow just in time. Instead he gave Gearán a disapproving shake of his head.

“Go to Camelot. Go to the castle there.” Arthur continued ignoring Gearán’s question. “Find Sir Kay and ask him to find something useful for you to do.”

With their bonds cut Gearán, Ethan and Buime got slowly to their feet. Rubbing his wrists Gearán looked from Leon to Arthur. “And what if we don’t?” He asked, a very tentative challenge.

“Then you’ll have thrown away your best chance at ever having anything but a life like this.” Arthur said in disgust spreading his hands around him. The bodies of the former defenders were laid out in one corner of the courtyard. The two dead Druids were a little further away. The remaining Druids lay huddled on the ground by a small fire, Gareth watching forlornly over them.

“Supplies?” Leon asked Arthur in the ensuing silence.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed and Leon gave Gearán and Ethan a small push in the direction of the storeroom that still held many of the provision Eyebrows had brought. They had traveled only a few steps when Elyan shouted down from his place on the wall that Percival was back. Arthur looked a question at Leon and the First Knight nodded. He did not need help seeing the prisoners off. With a small smile of gratitude Arthur headed over to meet Percival.

“Can we have horses?” Ethan asked as he picked out a blanket and a flint and put them in his nearly full pack.

Ethan did not have a concussion so Leon did slap the side of his head. Ethan just gave him a ‘you can’t blame someone for asking’ shrug and tied his bag of provisions closed.

“So that was Arthur Pendragon then?” Gearán asked as the group neared the gate. 

“Yes.” Leon answered. There was no point equivocating. Arthur had all but introduced himself. Still, Leon wondered why a man who had shown the opposite of curiosity when it came to the identity of Eyebrows suddenly wanted confirmation of Arthur’s identity.

Gearán nodded. “While I was still with the army, I saw Queen Lannia a few times- from a distance. You know, before. . . .”

“So . . .?” Leon’s understanding was that to call Lannia ‘Queen’ was to stretch the facts past what they could fairly be asked to bear but he also thought it was probably bad taste to say so.

“Just saying.” Gearán answered with a small shrug. 

“Great story, then.”

“I mean, I thought- I wondered if it was something you could see, you know? Was there something that made her different? Something that I would recognize no matter what?” Gearán went on. 

“Was there?” Leon asked. They had come to the fortress gate and Leon led the three men outside.

“Sometimes I thought so. Sometimes it seemed like I was just imagining it.”

Leon waved up at Elyan who waved back. It was time for Gearán, Ethan and Buime to be on their way. Ethan and Buime had already started trudging toward the trees but Gearán lingered.

“Was it that way for you? Or could you always see?” Gearán asked.

“I don’t know. I never met Lannia.” Leon answered. Then he turned to go back into the fortress leaving Gearán alone.

Arthur was sitting on the stairs leading up to the guard tower with his head bent when Leon returned. Making his way past the Druids who were now attended by a man and a girl who Percival had brought back with him from the village, Leon sat down beside Arthur. Arthur acknowledged Leon’s return by bumping his shoulder against the taller knight but he did not say anything. Respecting the other’s silence, Leon returned the gentle shoulder bump but remained quiet.

Usually Arthur’s mind would be consumed by weighing the pros and cons of releasing their prisoners. Mercy was no virtue if it came at the cost of innocent people’s safety yet how could anyone know the cost until it was too late. If he were at home, if he had his window, if Merlin were tucked up safely in his little tower, if Guinevere were just a little way away asleep in their bed with Cabal curled up behind Gwen’s bent knees then Arthur would fret and worry the problem. As it was Arthur’s thought were not at all about the bandits.

“What have I sent Merlin and Gawain into?” Arthur asked, knowing it wasn’t a fair question to put to Leon- even rhetorically. But, Arthur needed some escape from the warping spirals of his own fears.

“Whatever awaits them at the Mór Cruinniú Merlin is the one who will be best able to deal with it. Gawain also has more than a little sense- beneath the bluster.” Leon attempted to reassure.

“I’ve been thinking of the Druids as a magical problem. I thought, ‘well, the Druids are Merlin’s domain. This must be what he really wants. Even if Merlin doesn’t understand it yet himself, surely he wants a position of influence and authority among his fellow magic-users.’ I thought-“ Arthur broke off suddenly then resumed. “The Druids aren’t a magical problem- or at least not entirely- they’re a political problem. How did I not understand that? Merlin did not want to go. Neither did Gawain really.” 

How many times had Merlin hinted that he didn’t want to have anything to do with politics? How many times had Merlin flat out said that he was happy the way things were? Arthur had heard him but he had assumed that Merlin had not had enough experience to know his own mind in the matter or that Merlin was deliberately downplaying his ambition to reassure Arthur. Merlin was a very powerful sorcerer. Arthur couldn’t keep a powerful sorcerer about to polish armor, bounce ideas off of, keep his spirits up and then- in Merlin’s spare time- fiddle about with the deepest mysteries of magic, could he? That couldn’t really be what Merlin wanted.

“Whatever sort of problem the Druids pose, magic can be no small part, Sire.” Leon might have said that sometimes it was good for even very, very special secret sorcerers to shut up and do what they were told without pulling the whole kicked puppy routine but he refrained. Leon didn’t want to be petty and he did genuinely want Merlin and Gawain to be safe. 

“You’re right.” Arthur said trying to let go of some of the fear that was wrapping around his insides. “Merlin can handle things until we get there whatever is going on.” It was not precisely clear what was going on but the more Arthur heard of it the less he liked it. He hated it when everything was cloaked in murky suspicion and trust could neither be given whole-heartedly nor honorably withheld.

“We can’t leave the Druids here in the state they’re in but their condition may improve in the night or we can take them to the village to be looked after.” Arthur looked over to the sleeping figures. “We cannot delay long though. We need to be on our way to the Mór Cruinniú as soon as we can.”

Leon nodded and Arthur put a hand on the knight’s shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet. “It’s time I took the watch from Elyan.” Arthur paused before going up the stairs. There was more to say but Arthur did not have the words. Arthur knew Leon had not had an easy time of it the last few months. Leon had known more of what was going on than his fellow knights but not so much as to give him any chance of really understanding everything. 

More than Guinevere, certainly more than Merlin, Leon would have understood what it would mean to Arthur to have been so deceived. He would have understood the nature of Arthur’s wounds. It had been for that very reason that Arthur had found himself almost hostilely disposed toward his loyal knight. Yet, Leon had not complained. He had not demanded answers or sulked. He’d just done whatever he thought would be most helpful and waited. Later when Gawain and Merlin were back with them and everything was sorted Arthur would spend some time with Leon. He would try to find the words. 

“Thanks, Leon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
*  
Merlin passed through the warding of the innermost circle of the Mór Cruinniú after Alator. The space looked much bigger than it could actually be. Though the sun had gone down, the stones seemed to glow illuminating the entire space. Druids stood in a semicircle dressed in white looking down at Merlin and Alator from a platform of the same white stone as formed the circle. Looking closer Merlin could see that the stone had been carved with intricate designs. The carvings were outlined in gold and they shone differently at different angles. It was magnificent in its way. The scale of everything could make a person feel small and insignificant among the towering stones and infinite sky of stars.

It was mostly illusion, though. Merlin felt the reality beneath the glamor. The illusion had needed strong magic and a delicate casting and that was impressive in its way but Merlin somehow felt that it was also a little sad- like a dilapidated cottage freshly white-washed. Who was the illusion even intended to impress? Arthur? Emrys? Poor Accolon? Or was it for the Druids themselves?

‘You are welcome, Emrys.’ Merlin’s focus shifted back to the Druids themselves. Daisy had greeted him in mind speech. She stood in the center of the Druids. There were five people to her left and five to her right. Merlin inclined his head to acknowledge Daisy’s greeting.

Merlin and Alator were not the only ones to be standing in front of Daisy and the ten other Druids. Merlin looked and saw Mordred standing on his right side. He suppressed a shudder. Mordred returned Merlin’s gaze but his expression was unreadable. Beyond Mordred there was another man. He was tall and dark-skinned and he drew himself to his full height when Merlin’s eyes fell upon him. His expression was also difficult to read but Merlin somehow sensed disapproval. A woman stood on Merlin’s other side. She was young although, perhaps not so young as Mordred and she looked frail. She had a scar that ran down her forehead and across her cheek. From the look of it Merlin did not know how she still had both eyes. The woman did offer Merlin a slight nod which Merlin returned. There was no sign of Iseldir among the fifteen Druids and Merlin wondered idly which of the people here spoke for him.

‘You need only stand beside me.’ Alator’s voice was in Merlin’s head, soft and soothing. Merlin raised his eyes in question. He felt he should say something. Everyone was staring at him. ‘It is better if you do not speak aloud, my lord. The silence demonstrates our unity for however we may disagree no word is spoken and thus there is no discord.’ Merlin realized, then, that Alator was speaking only to him. No one else could hear. Merlin still felt he should say something but he did not want to break the silence that Alator had just told him was important. Merlin did not know how to reach out and put his voice in another’s head and he wasn’t sure that was something he really wanted to know. So, he stood quietly next to Alator.

‘We have before us, brothers and sisters, four paths.’ Daisy was speaking again and Merlin supposed by the fact that everyone had turned toward her that she was addressing them all. ‘Our way is not clear and our destiny is uncertain but we must go forward and we must go forward together. Who shall lead us? Who would go with Mordred?’

A girl who had stood on Daisy’s far right moved and stood beside Mordred. Merlin tried to keep his expression neutral. He had hoped that no one would choose an alliance with Morgana.

‘Who would go with Seasmhach?” Daisy asked. Seasmhach was apparently the tall dark-skinned man. If Mordred represented an alliance with Morgana then what did Seasmhach want the Druids to do? Alator had explained that various Druids would want various things and there was no way to be sure of anyone’s exact proposal until the Mór Cruinniú. 

Merlin tried to catch Alator’s eye to let him know he wanted more information but Alator’s attention was completely absorbed by the vote. In the end two women and two men stood with Seasmhach. Alator nodded to himself and took a breath. He seemed to be relieved.

‘Who would go with Alator?’ Daisy asked. Five people, Daisy among them, moved to stand with Alator. Merlin felt his breath come more easily. He did not smile, though. The scene felt too solemn. Alator had also told him that nothing was truly decided until the question was asked three times.

The last remaining Druid joined the woman on Merlin’s left who was called Aonarach. ‘She wishes us to retreat into the hills and rivers, to seek shelter among faeriekind until human nature is changed.’ Alator explained privately. Merlin regarded the young woman sympathetically. What must have happened in her short life that she would wish to abandon the rest of humanity.

‘We have seen now where our hearts would have us go.’ Daisy announced. ‘Now that you have seen the desires of your brethren, choose again.’

As soon as Daisy finished speaking Mordred and his companion walked boldly to Alator and stood beside him. He did not look at Merlin as he passed but fixed his gaze straight ahead. Confused Merlin opened his mouth to question why a man who was his enemy, who was destined to kill the Once and Future King would ever stand with him but he heard Alator’s voice in his mind before he could speak. ‘Men act for many motives and sometimes one may see a long-term advantage in a short-term surrender. Do not trouble about Mordred, my lord. The prophecies that bind him are not near at hand.’ 

This reassurance was enough to keep Merlin silent but he wondered still.

Aonarach and her companion went to Seasmhach. The vote now stood eight to seven in Alator’s favor.

‘As we must be one people and speak with one voice and not stray from the path decided here, say again which path shall we follow?’ Daisy looked at Seasmhach and his companions. They had lost. It was time for them to accept it so that the Druids would be unified.

With varying degrees of reluctance Seasmhach’s six companions made their way to Alator. Some looked angry and they glared fiercely at Alator and at Merlin. Others simply hung their heads. Finally only Seasmhach was left.

‘Join us, Seasmhach.’ Daisy said and she sound sympathetic in Merlin’s head. ‘Our path is chosen. Now we walk it together.’

‘I will follow where my people go.’ Seasmhach answered, meeting Daisy’s eyes with something that stood on the border between pride and defiance. ‘But, I will not have it said that I helped choose this path.’

‘Seasmhach, this is unprecedented.’ Now there was a warning in Daisy’s voice. Some of the other Druids regarded Seasmhach pleadingly and Merlin wondered how many conversations were going on besides the one he was privy to.

‘And if this were the only thing unprecedented here I would be more moved.’ Seasmhach shot back. Daisy and Alator exchanged a look and some of the faces of the Druids who had stood with Alator from the beginning turned stony.

‘Will you join us, Seasmhach, so that we may be one?’ Daisy asked once more sounding sad.

“I will not.” Seasmhach spoke aloud and the sudden noise amid the silence startled a shiver from Merlin.

“So be it.” Daisy answered and turned away from Seasmhach to address everyone else. ‘Brothers and sisters, our choice is made. We shall take the path Alator has proposed. Let us mark our commitment.’

Merlin looked around curiously. Some of the Druids had closed their eyes. Alator was standing with a rapturous expression on his face and his arms out-spread. What was happening? Would the other Druids now swear their allegiance to Alator? Merlin didn’t really feel up to a long ceremony. 

A sudden terrible thought struck Merlin, then. The Druids weren’t going to swear allegiance to him, were they? This fear grew more real as Alator, eyes fervent, took a step toward him. Merlin took an automatic step back. How was he going to get out of this? Why wasn’t Arthur here, Merlin thought with a spike of anger. Why had Merlin been sent? Didn’t Arthur understand how bad this would end up being?

Alator moved forward again and dropped to a knee. Merlin wondered how much of a diplomatic disaster it would be if he just turned and ran. He couldn’t do that, though, Merlin told himself squaring his shoulders. He could endure this right now because he had to, because it was a moment of ceremony and spectacle and those things had to be handled a certain way. Later when Arthur got here they would sort all this out like sensible people. After that Merlin would kill Arthur for daring to put him in a position where something like this might happen. Arthur hadn’t even had the decency to accept Merlin’s own oath yet. It was unconscionable.

All the Druids were watching now. Alator was still on one knee. He held out his hands for Merlin. The silence was unendurable. Merlin took a deep breath and with obvious reluctance he extended his own hands and placed them over Alator’s. Alator began to speak aloud in a language that was somehow familiar to Merlin and yet he could not discern the meaning. 

When Alator had finished he looked up at Merlin and Merlin licked his lips nervously. What in the world was he supposed to say? He looked around and tried to catch Daisy’s eye in hopes that she might understand and whisper the right words to him but Daisy was watching the whole scene with too much fascination. She would not interfere. Just as Merlin was struggling to think of something that sounded gracious, a cloud seemed to descend over him. All his senses were suddenly dulled as though he were experiencing the world through a layer of cotton. Merlin swayed on his feet and he might have fallen but Alator had jumped up and he now had a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm.

Merlin turned to look at Alator and discovered that it was not so much that he was estranged from his senses- though his body was sluggish and clumsy- but that he had no emotional understanding of what his senses told him. Alator was holding his arm and he whispered, ‘All is well, my lord. Be calm. You will understand in time.’ Merlin knew that this should mean something to him that he should feel very strongly about these statements but he didn’t. He understood the words’ meaning but he didn’t understand what they meant to him.

Daisy was speaking. Merlin heard her voice in his head though it was muffled as if by wool. She was adjourning the meeting. She announced that tomorrow they would begin discussion about how best to implement Alator’s plan.

After that, everyone was leaving. Mordred smirked as he passed Merlin. Some of the other Druids wore expressions of pity, anger or disappointment. When the circle was nearly empty, Alator began leading Merlin out. Merlin went with him as helpless as kitten carried by the scruff of its neck. Merlin did not resist but he was clumsy. Alator was patient as he rocked and stumbled.

As soon as the two left the circle, Merlin heard someone call, “Merlin! Merlin!” Alator turned and so Merlin turned with him. Gawain was charging up to him but while the knight was still yards away, one of the Catha tackled him. Gawain fought his way to his feet, still shouting, “Merlin” and “What’s going on?” Another Catha joined the first and they were working together to twist Gawain’s arms behind his back. Gawain struggled and though one of his attackers landed a hard knee in the knight’s stomach Gawain managed to temporarily shake off the other. It was useless though because a third Catha appeared and then Gawain disappeared beneath a pile of bodies.

There was a part of Merlin that knew that this should mean something to him and Merlin was only just able to worry about why it didn’t but the worry did not last long. Alator was still standing, watching his men restrain Gawain. Merlin’s gaze drifted though. He saw Accolon and Mordred. The two were speaking but Merlin could not hear them. Merlin knew that Mordred was probably giving Accolon a message for Morgana but he had no opinion about whether this was good or bad or utterly inconsequential. 

Eventually Gawain, silent and bleeding was dragged away by the Catha. Alator led Merlin to a large oak tree some distance from the center of camp. The trunk was bigger around than Merlin thought could be possible and he reasoned that it was likely an illusion of some kind. There was a hollow in the bowl of the tree and Alator led Merlin through. Inside was a circular room. There was a lamp, a pallet and a table with a stool. Now Merlin felt very confident that what he saw had some large magical component.

Alator led Merlin to the pallet and gently pressed him down onto it. He then dragged the stool from the table and sat facing Merlin. Alator touched Merlin’s forehead. He peered into each of his eyes. He put his fingers to the pulse at Merlin’s throat and then he turned Merlin’s head right and left then up and down. After that Alator took Merlin’s right arm pushed his sleeve to the elbow and pressed the skin there. He watched the skin go white and then quickly resume its usual color. He did this several times. Merlin endured the examination without curiosity or offense.

“You’re in shock right now.” Alator said when he had finished his inspection. Alator spoke aloud which Merlin was aware would help him hear and understand. The words Daisy had spoken earlier dismissing the council had grown almost incomprehensible just over the few sentences of her speech. 

“Eventually the shock will wear off.” Alator continued. “Then I am afraid there will be some pain. You cannot touch your magic, my lord.” Alator spoke as though the last sentence had been difficult to say. “You will not be able to touch it until I release you from my enchantment. It is a simple charm and had you been raised among us you would already know how to counter it. You were not raised among us though and my enchantment was made with all the magic given to me by the Mór Cruinniú.”

“I won’t tell you not to fight it. I suppose you must.” Alator conceded. “I will tell you that it won’t help. You will exhaust yourself and cause yourself great suffering. If this is a lesson you must learn by experience I can hardly blame you, though I do not wish you any pain.”

“My lord,” Alator spoke earnestly and took Merlin’s limp hand in his own. “There is so much you do not know, so much you have to learn. In time you will come to see why I had to do this.”

“I am not such a fool as to expect that time to come quickly.” Here Alator smiled self-deprecatingly. “But I can be patient.”

Alator stood and walked to a gap in the wall that Merlin had not seen until that moment. After Alator was gone Merlin stayed in the position in which he had been left and he waited, without particularly caring either way, to see if Alator had spoken the truth and the shock would fade.  
*  
Several hours later, Alator sat cross-legged on the floor of his pavilion, his fingers were steepled together and he was tapping his chin absently. The pavilion was draped in purple and scarlet silks. The ground was not only covered with various cushions but a thick carpet with designs based on descriptions of the highest luxury goods ever traded in the old empire. That had given Alator brief pause. He despised the Romans even now when their great city had fallen to the barbarian hordes. Still, despite his antipathy to them, Alator could not see why he should not be allowed to appreciate beautiful things.

None of it was real in any case. Without the glamor, Alator was sitting on hard-ground sparsely covered by grass in an unornamented tent of worn canvas. The illusion was just a reminder of what could be, of what should be. 

Mordred sat opposite Alator waiting for the other man to acknowledge him. Alator was content to let him wait for almost a minute more. Mordred was not Alator’s first visitor this night and it was sweeter than Alator had let himself hope to have so many of the great personages of the Mór Cruinniú come to him seeking his favor.

‘What is it I can do for you, Mordred?’ Alator finally asked enjoying the knowledge that he was the one with the power to grant or withhold.

‘The Lady Morgana is a powerful seer.’ Mordred answered in a tone mild enough that Alator could hear it as deferential if he wished. ‘She deserves a high place among us and our support as she pursues her birthright.’

Alator shook his head. ‘No one wants Morgana to be queen. She is a powerful seer and like most of her kind, she is too volatile to hold a position of leadership.’

‘I helped you, Alator. You would not be where you are now if I had not. I will have something for Morgana or I will stop helping you.’

Alator considered. Mordred had helped him. He had had more information about Emrys than Alator could have found on his own. He had also drawn the attention of would-be allies to Camelot giving Alator the freedom to move without scrutiny. Mordred was also powerful. He was touched by destiny in a way few others were. Alator did not want him as an enemy. At the same time, it was a great weakness of Mordred’s that he would seek to advance the interests of Morgana Pendragon. Either she had some hold over him or he saw some use in her beyond her prophetic powers that was not apparent to Alator.

‘She cannot have Camelot. She certainly cannot have all Albion.’ Alator was adamant.

‘You, of all people, support her brother?’ Mordred demanded.

Alator blew air noisily from his nose. ‘He will be called king for whatever that is worth. He may even be the Once and Future King of prophecy. He might manage to unify Albion. Let him. It is easier to control one king than dozens. We shall be the ones who hold the true power. It’s a fitting revenge.’ It was a fitting revenge. At the same time it was important to remain within the letter of the prophecy if one could. If that meant Arthur had to be King, well, that wasn’t such a problem when looked at from the proper perspective. It was unfortunate that Arthur himself could never be allowed to understand the extent of magic’s victory.

‘If she is not to have her rightful kingdom then let her kill Emrys.’

‘Am I supposed to find your audacity charming? I do not.’ Alator took several deep breaths to control his anger and then went on. ‘Emrys is mine.’

‘So what are you going to do with him?’ Mordred asked as though the answer was not obvious.

‘I am going to help him better understand his priorities.’

Now Mordred snorted. ‘You think you can? You think you can bend him far enough to make him biddable but not so far as to kill the part within him that allows him to do his magic? A hair’s difference either way, Alator, and you will have either a useless thrall or a half-mad sorcerer with a good reason to hate you.’ 

‘If I can’t bend him then I will not allow him the chance to hinder our plans. I’ll pulp what’s left of his will and Morgana can do what she likes with the remains. I don’t believe it will come to that though and neither do you else why would you help me at all?’ Alator had every confidence that Emrys would ultimately come to understand the righteousness of Alator’s goals.

‘Morgana must have something.’ Mordred repeated. ‘What about Guinevre?’

For a moment Alator didn’t know who Mordred was talking about. Then he smiled. ‘Done.’

‘She must also have a kingdom.’ Mordred held his hand out quickly to forestall Alator’s objections. ‘Not Camelot but she must have a place where she will be called Queen.’

‘Done.’ Alator congratulated himself on being right about Morgana. No one who wanted public adulation or public fear as much as Morgana seemed to could be trustworthy.

‘She should have a trophy from tonight.’ Mordred smiled. ‘She’d want Merlin, but as you have said, we can’t have that. I think it might be best if I told her Merlin was dead.’

Alator shrugged. He didn’t care what Mordred told Morgana about Emrys’s alter-ego just so long as Mordred was not so infatuated with Morgana that he told her that the two men were the same. A Druid should never reveal the secret name of another Druid to an outsider. Even though Emrys was not a Druid the principle held. It would a betrayal of all of them.

‘How about the knight who came with him?’ Mordred continued. ‘May I have him?’

‘No.’ Alator refused. ‘The knight is going to be Emrys’s first lesson.’

‘How about his sword then? And cloak as well?’

‘You can have anything you want from their possessions.’ Alator told Mordred graciously.

“Then we are agreed?”

“Agreed.”

‘I look forward to the benefits of your wise leadership.’ Mordred said standing up and bowing. ‘If you should ever have need of my assistance you have but to ask.’

Alator waved a dismissal. He had never completely understood Mordred’s motivation or ultimate ambition but for now Alator believed they were allies. As soon as Mordred had gone another Druid came in to sit in his place. Alator kept his expression neutral as he welcomed his new visitor but inside he was grinning.


	16. Chapter 16

It seemed only seconds after Arthur had finally drifted to sleep that he felt a presence near him and then someone gently shaking his shoulder. Opening his eyes, Arthur saw that there was a girl crouching beside him. His first thought was of the Lady of the Lake but in the next moment Arthur recognized the little physician’s apprentice who had come to the fortress with the village healer yesterday.

“One of the Druids is awake, my lord.” As soon as the girl saw that Arthur’s eyes were open she retreated a few steps. “You said you wanted to know?”

“Right. Yes.” Arthur acknowledged. As he sat up he ran his fingers through his hair trying to wake himself up. “Thanks.” The girl nodded and took another couple of steps back.

Looking at the sky, Arthur saw that dawn was not that far off. Once he spoke to Iseldir it would be time to rouse the knights. Though it had been late when Arthur finished the last night’s watch he had not been able to go to sleep immediately. He found he could not rest his thoughts. Worry for his missing companions had given him a headache which was still with him as he woke up. He expected it would stay with him until Merlin and Gawain were back where they belonged.

“We’re not going to see Iseldir?” Arthur asked as the girl led him past the only Druid Arthur thought of as remotely familiar.

“It’s one of the lady Druids who is awake, my lord.” The girl said quietly.

“Oh.” Arthur said dully. It didn’t matter really. It was just that Arthur had expected Iseldir.

The physician was still fussing with his patient when Arthur arrived. He finished up quickly when he saw Arthur and scurried off taking his apprentice with him.

The Druid was propped up by blankets and half leaning against the granary wall. Arthur recognized her. Yesterday he had carried her to this very place. She had looked half dead then. She didn’t look that much better now. 

Leon had thought the Druids were being starved and Arthur could see how he might have thought that. There was a hollow look to the woman that Arthur could not pin down to any particular feature but that told a tale of harsh deprivation.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked uncertain how to start this conversation.

“Better than I was.” The woman replied with a wry twist to her lips. She was probably in her mid-forties but the slump of her body made her seem older.

“I am Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur introduced himself because that was polite. He offered her his hand which after a second’s pause she took. Her grip was not as weak as Arthur might have feared. “Can you tell me what has been happening here?”

“I can tell you a great many things. Of what use they may be to you, that is harder to say.” Again she gave him a wry smile. “I am Auntie Stoat.”

Arthur blinked. “Is that what your mother calls you?”

“You are not my mother.” The Druid replied equably.

“I am not nephew mouse either. So, let’s not be silly.” Arthur knew he was abandoning diplomacy for something that didn’t matter. It was nothing to him whatever any Druid called herself and she had information that he needed in order to help Merlin and Gawain. Yet something about the obvious ridiculousness of the name touched a nerve that Arthur had not realized was so exposed. 

The woman before him was undoubtedly a powerful Druid yet she gave a name that was supposed to make her seem harmless- even comical. She wanted it to be undignified for anyone to take her seriously as a possible threat. Just giving her name she seemed to say, ‘oh, you needn’t worry about little old me’ She was being dishonest and manipulative and Arthur just wasn’t going to play that game today.

For long moments the Druid and the King stared at one another. When Arthur had just convinced himself that he would go to see if Iseldir was awake and willing to talk the woman spoke. “My mother called me Julia.”

Arthur blinked again.

“You are surprised?” She asked.

Arthur shrugged one shoulder. He had been surprised but when he thought about it there was no reason why he should be. There were plenty of people who had Latin names. Why shouldn’t a Druid be one of them.

“It is more than a surprise for many of my brethren. Some of them refused to speak the conqueror’s name at all.” 

Arthur grimaced. Julia saw it. “You think that is petty, don’t you?” Arthur shrugged again. He did think it was petty.

“You’re right of course.” Julia went on. “So, I share a name with Julius Caesar. How could that be important hundreds of years after the man’s death? Why would maintaining such a powerful antipathy to a nation that has long departed become an important part of how a people see themselves? It would be as unseemly as squabbling over a crust of bread. No one who gave any thought to their dignity would bother over the disposition of something so insignificant. Except when a people have been pursued, scorned, cast out; when their numbers have been reduced to a mere fraction of what they once were; when the land and the people abandon them, then suddenly they cling fiercely to whatever they have left, however little a thing it seemed before. So, I chose a new name.”

“You chose one that would let you get a little of your own back.” Arthur commented. He was moved by Julia’s speech. He did understand how important the little things could become, especially when the big things were profoundly complicated or out of one’s control.

Julia looked at Arthur as though she was not sure if she wanted to be amused or offended. Finally she said, “I have my pride, too.”

“I had no right to question what you call yourself.” Arthur said humbly. His initial flare of irritation had quickly burned itself out. The woman had done little more than tell him her name and he had been half ready to call her a liar. That wasn’t the man Arthur wanted to be. “Shall we start again?”

Now Julia was definitely amused as she inclined her head.

“I am Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur stuck his hand out again. “I want to help you if I can but I need to know anything you can tell me about what’s happened here.”

“Hello Arthur, I am . . . Julia.” Julia closed her eyes and the weariness that she had been holding back overwhelmed her briefly. She regained her composure quickly but Arthur was afraid he had wasted precious time. On the other hand, he and Julia understood each other better because of the digression and that might prove useful before all was said and done. “I will help you if I can but there are things I must know too. Has the Mór Cruinniú started?”

“If my information is correct, then it is the morning of the fourth day.”

“Then, it’s been decided.” Julia seemed to deflate and this was worrisome to Arthur because Julia had already seemed to be entirely shrunken in upon herself.

“What has been decided?”

“There were four paths before us.” Julia shifted a little, clearly trying to overcome disappointing news. “Each one was proposed by a different representative: Aonarach would have had us retreat from all humankind to recover from the recent strife. It would amount to suicide- though a gentle one. Mordred’s path would lead us to the same end by a harder road. He would have had the Druids take up arms, join forces with any willing sorcerer, make alliance with the griffons, wake the sleeping hill giants and rain havoc down upon the kingdoms of Albion.”

“Why?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask. “I- I can see why there might be anger among the Druids, but no one would win such a war. No one benefits from chaos like that.”

Julia regarded Arthur a moment as if to say, ‘it’s interesting that you think so.’ “Sometimes it is enough if your enemies lose. But, I do not claim to understand Mordred or his ultimate intent. He has always held himself somewhat apart.”

“Iseldir wanted . . .” Julia trailed off. She sought out Iseldir’s shape in the grey light of the morning. “He believed that we could not prosper- nor even survive- as a people if we did not build a community where those with magic and those without lived interdependently. He argued that of all the kingdoms in Albion, we should make trial of this in Camelot. He has such faith in you and Emrys. He watched carefully and he was very sure.”

“I do not know what he could have seen to give him such faith, unless it was the strength of Merlin’s magic.” Or perhaps it could have been the purity of Merlin’s intentions or Iseldir might have let himself get caught up in the whole Once and Future King foofaraw. In Arthur’s opinion the Druids did themselves no favors by putting so much stock in stories.

“There is certainly that. Emrys is . . . well, words fail.” Julia paused as though she needed a moment to recover from contemplating concepts of that scale. “It was not only that, though.”

“I cannot have inspired confidence, Julia, not with what Iseldir saw of me.”

“He saw more than you know.” Julia said cryptically but then she went on. “He knew you would not have harmed that child.”

“Did he? That’s more than I knew.” It was grating that Julia should know about the incident with the boy in the cave where the Cup of Life had been hidden. Arthur wasn’t surprised though. He had long since reconciled himself to the idea that someone was always watching and that he could not expect to be able to do anything in secret. 

Arthur took no joy in remembering the incident. He did, though, understand its implications. It was just possible that if Iseldir or his followers had made an aggressive move or if the child himself had begun chanting . . . Arthur had been surrounded by sorcerers; sorcerers who had in their possession the best means of protecting Camelot. It could never be something that he could want but, yes, there were circumstances where, in the confusion of a dangerous situation, Arthur might have hurt the child.

“Do you not know yourself to be a good man?”

“Good men do terrible things all the time.” Arthur said sardonically. Yet, it was true. If someone did too many terrible things then he could no longer be a good man but where was that line drawn? How many times could a person transgress the boundaries of what was right and come back untarnished? How many chances did one man get? And how many people was he allowed to hurt along the way? How much could be sacrificed to the greater good before those sacrifices poisoned that good beyond all help? The questions gnawed at Arthur but there could be no simple answer. It might have been tempting to declare that there were no answers at all. The world was just shades of grey and what was right and what was wrong depended on what side you happened to be on. Arthur recoiled from that conclusion, though. It was lazy and cowardly. Even if there were no absolute right and wrong there was still a difference between the two and the difference mattered.

“I suppose they do. In any case, we’re mostly stuck with each other now, aren’t we?” Julia’s tone was impossible for Arthur to interpret.

“If that was what Iseldir wanted then what was left for Alator?” Arthur asked although he was afraid he had an idea.

“He would have us use this tentative peace as a means to get closer to those who wield temporal power in the kingdoms. He has argued that the only safety for the Druids is to control the men who control the armies. He believes that as kingdoms rise and fall and history progresses, the Druids can stand apart from the turmoil and shape it for our own purposes. He would have us play with the world as a child plays with toy soldiers.”

“He told us he wanted peace.” Arthur said. “He wanted magic to once again be welcomed in the kingdoms of Albion.”

“If you think upon his exact words it is likely that he did not technically lie. The Catha take great care in such things.”

“I never spoke to him.” Arthur shook his head. He should have spoken to Alator. That was obvious now. “Merlin did. Julia, Merlin has gone onto the Mór Cruinniú. He would have arrived yesterday under the impression that Alator was a friend.”

Julia nodded. She had known this in the same way Arthur had already known Alator was not what he and Merlin had hoped.

“What is Alator going to do?” Arthur demanded. The worry he was struggling to suppress so that he could concentrate on Julia suddenly crushed in upon him. “What has he done? He is responsible for this?” Arthur’s gesture included the fortress, the still unburned bodies and Julia herself.

“Yes. All of us here were against him but no one would have guessed he would go so far. We thought Mordred was the greater danger but Alator engineered this. He must have managed to suborn our likely replacements.” Julia said bitterly. “Of the five of us here, three of us were to speak at the Mór Cruinniú. There was a fourth but he was killed in the attempt to kidnap him. With four votes switched in his favor Alator will have gained the right to speak for all the Druids on this matter.”

“What does that mean for Merlin? And for Gawain. Gawain is one of my knights. He accompanied Merlin.” Arthur explained in response to Julia’s inquisitive look.

“He will try to contain Emrys’s magic. Later he will try to control it.” Julia reached out and just brushed Arthur’s sleeve with her fingers. Arthur, who had been looking around for Leon and trying to come up with a plausible rescue scenario, made himself calm down and return his attention to Julia. “Alator will not harm Emrys- at least not beyond recovery. He will not even seriously try until after the Mór Cruinniú concludes. I expect he kept me and the others alive so that he could test his techniques on us before risking Emrys.”

“What about Gawain?” Arthur was not much mollified. He needed to get to Merlin and Gawain as soon as possible.

“He will have no reason to harm him.”

“Gawain will give him a reason if Alator has tried to harm Merlin.”

“He will not have put Emrys in a cage.” Julia attempted to reassure. “In his own twisted way he worships Emrys. He will want to be very careful of him. ”

Arthur shook his head. “How can he even do it? Merlin is supposed to be- to have . . .” No one was supposed to be able to hurt Merlin. No one should be able to touch him. Merlin might get himself in trouble trying to balance keeping the secret of his power against the exercise of that power but with his secrets revealed Merlin was invulnerable. Merlin was the world’s greatest sorcerer. That was what Arthur had understood. Merlin was supposed to be invulnerable, damn it.

“Alator will have the help of the entire Mór Cruinniú.” Julia shrugged. “Emrys might be strong and determined but Alator will have planned for that.”

“All of them? Won’t some of them take Merlin’s side? He’s Emrys, right? That means something to you? No matter what the other Druids think about anything else won’t some of them object to . . .” Arthur gestured toward Julia and the other Druids. “I mean, isn’t this . . .” Again Arthur gestured, “an awful thing to do to someone?”

Julia was quiet as she decided which of Arthur’s assumption to tackle first. “If Alator has won leadership of the Mór Cruinniú then the others will have no choice but to help him. Emrys does indeed mean something to us but he is a figure of fear as well as hope. Some will see this as a test for Emrys: can he free himself? If he can, what does he do to Alator? Many Druids will simply wait and see if Emrys is all that has been claimed for him. Separating a sorcerer from his magic is awful but that stops very few who have the means and the need.”

“Thank you for your help, Julia.” Arthur said a little formally. “Are you . . . You are not well enough to travel, are you.”

No other Druid had stirred that morning and though Julia had held her half of a difficult conversation she had clearly done so at the cost of whatever progress she had made in the night. Her skin was grey and clammy. She didn’t seem to have the strength to hold her head up for more than a minute at a time.

“I can leave Gareth with you. There is a village nearby. They can take you in until you regain your strength. I regret leaving you like this but you should be all right.”

“What do you imagine you are going to do?” Julia’s voice twisted strangely and Arthur wondered if she were laughing.

“Reveal Alator’s fraud to the Mór Cruinniú and rescue my people.” Arthur was too impatient to speak the words with the dignity he felt they could carry.

“You cannot. You know you cannot.” Now Julia was definitely laughing. “What foolishness is this?”

“I will not leave Merlin or Gawain in Alator’s hands. Neither will I leave your Mór Cruinniú in his control if there is a way to take it from him.” This time Arthur overcame his impatience to load on the dignity.

“Stop, please, stop.” Julia begged. Her shoulders had started to shake in her mirth and the movement was causing her pain. “You can’t be serious. Alator will kill you- if you’re lucky. Since even he acknowledges that it is more likely than not that you are the Once and Future King he’ll want to keep you.”

“I’m not leaving them there.” In truth, Arthur didn’t have a strategy for extricating Merlin and Gawain from Alator’s clutches and then proving to the Mór Cruinniú that Alator was a usurper. To the extent he had given it any thought he imagined he would start with the argument that Gawain and Merlin were his subjects, the Druids had invited them as Camelot’s representatives and the Druids had no right to detain them. It was an act of war to hold them against their will. If Alator remained leader of the Druids then it would have to be war anyway. “What is the alternative?”

“Iseldir, Timon and I must confront Alator before the Mór Cruinniú. That is the only thing that might convince the other Druids of what Alator has done.”

“How long will it be until you are able to do that?” Arthur tried to speak gently but frustration crept into his voice.

Julia closed her eyes. She was silent several seconds. Then she said, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning.”

Arthur was dubious. “Are you sure? The others are still asleep.” 

“Yes, I’m sure. The others have agreed. As our magic slowly returns to us we can heal ourselves.”

Arthur was ready with an objection before Julia had finished speaking and it took him a moment to process what she had said. Maybe the other Druids weren’t asleep. Maybe they were just listening. The Druids could speak without speaking. He had been told that. 

“It will take a full day to get to the Mór Cruinniú from here. So, if we left tomorrow morning it would not be until tomorrow evening at the earliest that we could get to Merlin and Gawain.” The idea that he had been part of a four or even six part conversation without being aware of it upset Arthur. It angered him but he struggled not to make more of it than it deserved. The important thing was could he wait a day before going after Merlin and Gawain. 

Julia nodded to acknowledge that Arthur’s calculation of the time it would take to get to the Mór Cruinniú was correct.

“I don’t know that I can wait so long.” It was already maddening to think that even if Arthur left immediately he would still have hours of travel time ahead of him. “Anything could be happening.”

“I told you that Alator will not kill Emrys. As for the knight,” Julia shrugged, “if Alator intends to kill him then he is already dead. If not, then the extra time does not increase his danger.”

“You don’t understand.” Arthur had heard what Julia had said about Alator’s intentions toward Merlin. Julia had said- far too blithely for Arthur’s liking- that Merlin could endure his captivity. Well, Arthur was not nearly so complacent. “He can’t- How can you think of leaving him with Alator after what you just went through?” It would be worse for Merlin, Arthur was certain of it. Merlin was magic. Alator’s magic would cut him in half and that was merely the prelude to what the Catha intended.

“What is the alternative?” Julia gave Arthur’s words back to him.

There wasn’t an alternative. Julia had been right that it would be foolish to confront Alator without allies. Yet, Merlin had already been through so much. And so much of what he had been through had happened without Arthur’s knowledge, beyond Arthur’s help. It was supposed to be different now. They were supposed to be done with the whole Merlin suffers in noble silence until his magic sets things to rights ordeal. Merlin was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be beyond the reach of danger. He was supposed to . . . But no, Arthur had sent Merlin into the middle of a coup where his magic was made part of the spoils. Damn it but things were supposed to be different now.

“If there is anything that can be done to speed your recovery let someone know.” Arthur came to his feet and inclined his head toward Julia. Then, back stiff and jaw clenched, he turned away.  
*  
As the night passed, Alator’s three predictions were proven correct one by one. First, Merlin’s shock did fade. Slumped and apathetic, Merlin dozed briefly but when he woke the world was once again real and immediate. As soon as his thoughts and feelings were once again in communication, Merlin reached for his magic. It was there but somehow he could not get to it. A film as seemingly insubstantial as breath on a window pane stood between him and his power. Alator’s second prediction was then proved true as Merlin fought.

Merlin pushed and struggled. He threw his will toward his magic again and again. And again and again he was repulsed. Sweat covered him and though he had no awareness of it Merlin writhed on his pallet. He muttered in the old language but they were not spells. Merlin could not cast spells. The more he struggled the more daunting the barrier became. Now he was not just blocked from his magic but the part of himself that called the magic forth was slowly wrapped in a spider’s cocoon. Strands of restraint too delicate to even notice wound around and around Merlin until he was immobilized by sticky elastic cords.

Finally in accordance with Alator’s third prediction Merlin suffered as he struggled. There was an emptiness; a deep emptiness in Merlin where magic used to flow. The harder Merlin fought to touch his magic the harder to bear was his need. He was hungry, starving. Merlin bit at his blanket, at his sleeve. Finally he bit his own arms. His teeth ached with want. Merlin wept with his terrible emptiness and he fought the harder.

Curled on his side, Merlin paused a moment to try and catch his breath. The fierceness of his hunger had ebbed just enough to let him think. He was echoingly hollow but if he stayed still and did not struggle then he could just bear it. His magic was so close. It was where it always was but now he had the sensation that it was no longer connected to him. It was the same as when he would hunch over in his little bed in Gaius’s spare room to read his magic book and after hours of concentration he would suddenly realize his foot was asleep. Now, pins and needles pierced his magic but when he reached to touch it, it was like a foreign thing. He rested for no more than a minute then he called his magic again and his emptiness deepened.

Later- the minutes and the seconds crept so slowly- Merlin found himself lying face down on the floor. He might have slept. Perhaps he had simply gotten lost in his own deserted soul. The awareness of a sound, high-pitched and intermittent roused him from stupor. Curiosity offered him a second’s respite before he realized what the sound was: he was keening softly. He made himself stop. 

It was taking too long. Merlin’s magic was his. Nothing could keep him from it. Eventually he would break through. This was what he told himself and he believed it. He believed it on some deep level that the emptiness had not yet penetrated. But time was passing. The seconds trickled by and though each one seemed to stretch itself past endurance they did not stop.

Merlin was desperate. He urgently craved his magic. Again the feeling of starvation overcame him. Merlin reached stiffly for his blanket and shoved a corner into his mouth. He sucked at it knowing how futile it was. When the hunger receded Merlin knew it was time to call the dragon. The decision by itself was enough to give Merlin some solace. Kilgharrah would set him free. Kilgharrah was Merlin’s final trick, his last secret. Alator would never see it coming.

Merlin spit out the blanket and took a breath, the words of the dragon tongue took shape in his mind and filled a little of the emptiness- not enough, not nearly enough but Merlin was no longer helpless. Kilgharrah would come. He would burn the Mór Cruinniú to nothing. Alator would die in fire. Merlin felt neither satisfaction nor regret about this- only determination. 

Alator would not be the only one to die. A dragon was not a precision weapon. Even if Kilgharrah cared about preserving human life- and there was evidence to suggest he did not especially- there would be little he could do to confine the damage. Everyone here, the greatest gathering of Druids in decades, would fall beneath Kilgharrah’s merciless wrath. Again, Merlin felt only resolution. The Druids had had their chance and they had sided with Alator. Merlin would not stand between them and the consequences of that choice. They had asked for war and they would get it.

The world would be changed. There might be survivors and not every Druid was gathered here but the Druids would be doomed as a people. They would not be able to recover from such a slaughter. 

What would the political repercussions be? Arthur would have to sort that out. It was just possible that Arthur would prefer that Merlin not wipe out the last remaining organized group of magic users- but could Merlin really afford to worry about that? Suddenly Merlin felt a flicker of uncertainty. Arthur hoped to forge a genuine peace with the Druids. It would be inconvenient for Arthur to have to explain the destruction of an allegedly peaceful gathering to Albion’s sorcerers but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome. In a way Arthur might even be relieved. The King could never wish it, not even in the safety of his own thoughts, but Merlin knew that there was a part of Arthur that could happily see the Druids gone.

It could wait no longer. It was not merely the clawing emptiness, though Merlin ached with it. No, what was more important was that Arthur and the knights were coming here. Merlin could not imagine what would greet them when they arrived but he felt fairly sure that whatever it was would be exactly the sort of thing Merlin was supposed to prevent. Merlin would not let his friends be harmed.

On the heels of that last thought, Merlin suddenly remembered Gawain. Gawain was not with Arthur. Gawain was somewhere in this camp. Merlin remembered how the knight had tried to come to his aid as Alator led him away. He remembered the Catha converging on the knight, bringing him to the ground with kicks and punches. If the dragon came what would happen to Gawain?

Merlin’s brow furrowed. There was no way to get to Gawain and protect him from Kilgharrah. Merlin’s mind moved ponderously. The momentum that had had him on the verge of calling for the dragon began to slow. Other thoughts that had been crowded out by Merlin’s single-minded resolve reasserted themselves. Not everyone had agreed with Alator. There had been dissent. Wasn’t it also possible that some of the Druids had been tricked into siding with Alator, even as Merlin himself had been tricked. A soft sob broke the silence of Merlin’s prison. It was a terrible thing to burn.

But Arthur was coming and Mordred was here. Even in his rickety state this fact focused his attention with hawk-like concentration. Merlin couldn’t be sure that he could free himself in time to protect the King. So, he would call Kilgharrah. He did not need to think more. 

And yet, Merlin did think more. Hadn’t Merlin always thought that if Arthur could just talk to the Druids, if they could get to know one another conflict could be averted and friendships made? Arthur had this way of making people reconsider what was important. Was such a thing still possible? Did Merlin dare to wait and see?

No, he could not. Alator’s treachery changed matters. There was no way Arthur would get a hearing now. This wasn’t about changing minds or political compromise any more. Alator had reduced all the complexities of a people attempting to guide their future into one simple question: ‘Whose magic was the strongest.’ Arthur could not prevail in such a battle. He wasn’t meant to. That was what Merlin was for.

All these thought tangled in Merlin’s brain. Fear and his own need urged him to call the dragon. Yet if Merlin waited he might free himself without destroying the Mór Cruinniú. If Merlin waited, there was a chance this did not have to end in bloodshed. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Merlin told himself there was still time. He would wait. The dragon was his last resort. He would call him but only when he was sure there was no other choice.  
*  
Everything had been packed the day before to ensure the earliest possible starting time. Not that there was much packing to be done but Arthur had been vibrating with so much suppressed urgency that Gareth and the other knights had done everything they could to give the appearance of purposeful activity. 

The peculiar procession- made up of an equal number knights and Druids- left the fortress just before dawn. The early and problem free start to the journey did not much diminish Arthur’s anxiety. Now two hours in, the necessarily slow pace had Arthur’s teeth grinding into his jaw. Gareth sympathized but it was clear the Druids could go no faster.

Iseldir, Auntie Stoat and Timon were all bent low over their horses’ necks, their faces pale and strained. Despite his obvious desire for haste Arthur was careful to see that they had frequent rests and he was as solicitous of them as could be reasonably expected. The Druid leaders for their part were clearly pushing themselves as hard as they could and Gareth watched them carefully for they were not always steady on their mounts.

The two remaining Druid, Edith and Edwin were faring better. Even the day before when the other three spent most of their time asleep or unconscious, Edith and Edwin were able to sit up and even converse with the knights. This resilience was especially surprising as the two Druids who were recovering the fastest were also the two Druids who had been longest in the cages. Elyan had asked about this in a manner which indicated that he had formulated the question in his head many times in an attempt to find the most polite phrasing. 

The cages kept their occupants from using magic and this was not the hardship for Edith and Edwin that it was for their companions. The two were sorcerers, it was true but magic was not so central to their beings that being deprived of it caused them physical harm. Once free from the cages they had been able to use magic to help themselves heal and they were now- if not fit- in better condition than the others. Elyan had asked then why the others had not likewise healed themselves. It was explained that their magic was slow in returning as they had exhausted themselves in their futile attempt to reconnect with their power. 

This conversation had drawn Arthur to the group. The King had previously been stalking the grounds of the fortress in between brutal sparring sessions. Edwin and Edith’s information made him scowl. Even Elyan looked anxious as he asked if it was truly that dangerous then for a person with innate magical power to be isolated from it. Edith nodded and the faces of both Druids spoke eloquently of the danger. Arthur cursed under his breath and strode away from the group to continue his pacing. Gareth did not understand then where the thoughts of the others had gone.

Less than an hour later, although the inactivity of the day made is seem longer, Leon summoned Gareth and began leading him on a walk around the fortress. Uncertain why his company had been requested but happy for the prospect of something to do Gareth followed.

“You’ve learned a lot about the Druids in your time with them?”

“I hope I have learned some things.” It had not really been a question but Gareth answered as best he could.

“Did you ever hear anyone speak of Emrys?” Leon asked without looking at Gareth.

“Yes, the Druids know all about Emrys.” Gareth had always paid attention when he heard the name. He was curious about Camelot’s secret sorcerer and if there was a relationship between him and the Druids then certainly that was relevant to his mission. “They believe he is the most powerful sorcerer in the world. He is not a Druid, for all they speak of him familiarly. The Druids have this prophecy, well they actually have a lot of prophecies but the big one- the pivotal, world-changing prophecy is about a peaceful and unified Albion. Emrys is supposed to help the Once and Future King- that’s what they call Arthur- bring that about.”

Leon who had been listening gravely stopped in his tracks. “Gareth!” Leon turned to face the younger knight. He seemed to be struggling for words before giving up. He ran a hand through his hair then started walking again.

“Gareth, you mustn’t say that sort of thing.”

“What? Why?” Gareth was confused. He had no idea what Leon could possibly be objecting to.

Taking a breath, Leon slogged through heavy layers of exasperation and frustration until he was able to recapture his habitual patient reasonableness. “Think about what you’re saying.”

“I have.” Gareth answered still unsure what he had said wrong. “And it’s right, isn’t? Well, not the prophecy part obviously- that’s just a cultural thing the Druids have. The rest of it though, the rest of it makes sense. I mean, you think so too, don’t you?” Gareth would have thought Leon as much as anyone else would share the dream of a united Albion.

“Whatever I think or don’t think, Gareth, doesn’t matter. What do you think would happen if it came to Bayard’s court or Olaf’s that knights of Camelot are talking about a predestined alliance between Arthur and the shadowy, vaguely-frightening, possibly-powerful Druids to take over Albion?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it from that perspective.” Gareth said only slightly abashed. 

“Well, try to think about it from that perspective.” Leon sighed. He was getting side-tracked. “Look, Gareth, there is something you need to understand before tomorrow.”

“All right?”

Leon did not speak for so long that Gareth wondered if he had already been told whatever it was he was supposed to understand. Finally though, Leon said in an unnaturally subdued voice. “The Emrys that the Druids talk about, the Emrys that has been helping Camelot, Emrys is Merlin. Things may get complicated tomorrow and there is no use throwing confusion in on top of it.”

Gareth stopped midstride and Leon watched as the younger knight’s thoughts played over his features. Leon supposed it was a lot to take in. 

Gareth was at some remove from Arthur and affairs of state but it was still a lot to take in. Leon noted that of the myriad emotions chasing each other across Gareth’s face anger and hurt were both absent. And why should it be different? Merlin had not lied to Gareth- or if he had it had been only incidental to deceiving Arthur. Gareth had no expectations that Merlin should confide in him and he probably assumed unquestioningly that Arthur would have known all along. 

“I would not have guessed that.” Gareth finally admitted shaking his head.

“This is not something to be discussed- even among ourselves.” Leon admonished and a flash of guilt flickered in Gareth’s eyes. He had been planning to run to Elyan the moment Leon let him go to demand as much of the story as he knew. As Leon spoke though it occurred to Gareth that he really oughtn’t to go gossiping about a matter that was apparently not only a state secret but also the life of a man who had always been kind to him.

“I understand.” Gareth replied then shook his head again. “Poor Merlin.”

“Pardon?” Leon had begun to hope that this interview was nearly over but Gareth’s voice had been filled with sincere pity.

“It cannot be easy to be two people.” Gareth explained. “I mean, does he have any warning or does it just happen to him? Or can he choose when it happens? Does he remember once it’s over? Can Emrys hear Merlin? Can Merlin hear Emrys? No wonder Merlin has always been a little . . . well, poor Merlin”

Leon considered Gareth’s assumptions a moment. Was it worth correcting him? Leon didn’t have that many facts to go on himself. “Poor Merlin.” Leon murmured caught between opposing feelings.

“Oh, my God.” Gareth exclaimed suddenly. “Alator has Emrys.” Gareth had assumed that Gawain and Merlin were guests at the Mór Cruinniú. Alator had certainly done terrible things and was not to be trusted but the rest of the Druids surely would not condone any mistreatment of the two. At worst, Merlin and Gawain might be used as hostages against Camelot but Gareth had assumed that their relative unimportance combined with Alator’s need to appear reasonable among the other Druids would protect them. But if Merlin were Emrys . . . 

Surely, Alator would have a plan to deal with Emrys. Whatever support Gareth might have thought Emrys and Camelot had among the Druids must certainly be less than he had assumed. How bold was Alator to not only take on his opponents among his own people but Emrys as well. What did he know that would lead him to believe he could get away with it?

“Our job tomorrow is to rescue Gawain and Merlin. Expose the fraud that Alator has made of the Mór Cruinniú and reinstate the Druids Alator kidnapped in hopes that that will leave the Druids favorably disposed toward Camelot. That’s the same as before.” Leon said firmly to stem the tide of Gareth’s panic.

Slowly Gareth nodded. His head was spinning but Leon was right, their mission was the same. Leon put a hand on Gareth’s shoulder and squeezed it. Gareth nodded again and then after a few seconds more he wandered back to the others. Dazed, Gareth trusted that his brain would find a way to make some sense of this without any help from him.

For the rest of the day, Gareth hung on the periphery of conversation. His mind was slowly recalibrating. He could now hear the nuance when before it might have seemed as though the Druids and the knights were talking past each other. When evening came Gareth went to sleep the moment he lay down. 

In the morning, Gareth found his mind filled with practical concerns. Sometime in the night he had come to the conclusion that Merlin was his friend or at least he hoped their relationship could be so described and Emrys was not a topic upon which he was qualified to pass judgment. With that settled Gareth spent the day conversing with Edith and Edwin when they had the energy and keeping a watchful eye on the other Druids as their strength ebbed with each mile.

By the late afternoon, tempers were beginning to fray. No one spoke except to issue brusque commands. Arthur and the knights were impatient of the slow pace and the Druids were exhausted pushing themselves to the limit of their endurance and everyone was anxious about what awaited them. Gareth would have liked to ask how much further had they to go but he feared that to do so would make him the target of everyone’s frustration so instead he rubbed his horse’s neck and murmured quiet reassurances to the animal.

The Mór Cruinniú came into view all at once as the company reached the crest of a small hill. Gareth felt a cool gust of air and suddenly he noticed just how much of the late afternoon light had faded. Nervously, he looked to his companions. A sudden unreasonable fear of being alone hit him. 

The camp at the base of the hill sprawled across the land taking as much space as a city- except it didn’t. The physical dimensions of the Mór Cruinniú expanded and contracted and distorted in such a way that it took several minutes before Gareth’s brain was able to understand what he was seeing. More than that, structures within the camp shimmered between forms. In one moment, small tents of fraying burlap and circles marked by stones collected from the countryside covered the area. In the next moment, the tents were gone, transformed into buildings- great halls and towers. The towers spiked so high that they should have been visible for miles. The stone circles became jutting monoliths of polished rock, their interiors lost in shadow. Then the scene would change again and the baffled onlookers would see something like the fields around Camelot before a great tournament, tents of deep reds and golds and purples, flags, pavilions and banners made of silk.

“Is it supposed to be like that?” Elyan asked quietly. 

“No.” Iseldir answered and several of the other Druids shook their heads in the negative.

“What does it mean?” Arthur demanded. 

“The spells of illusion that are always made for Mór Cruinniú are unraveling.” All the Druids were pale but they had been so for nearly the entire journey. Speculation wrinkled their brows but no one expanded on Iseldir’s answer- at least not so Arthur or the knights could tell.

Arthur forbore asking again but he gave Iseldir a frustrated glare. “Come on, then.” Arthur touched his heels to his horse’s flanks without bothering to look back.  
*  
Merlin was roused from his inner battle by the sudden awareness of movement in the room with him. Disoriented, he looked around and saw a man carrying a tray to the table. The man was dressed as Alator’s servants seemed to be in dark trousers and little else. At first, Merlin thought the man was Messenger but after a moment’s reflection he thought perhaps not.

The Catha inclined his head to Merlin after setting down the tray and turned to leave. Merlin wondered if he should say something but no question could form before the man was gone. Without the man to draw his attention, Merlin made his careful way over to the table to see what had been left there. When he saw the bowl of porridge he reached for it with fingers that were clumsy in their haste. Food would do nothing for the emptiness inside him. Merlin knew this even as he shoveled the porridge into his mouth. He was finished too quickly but there were also several slices of bread covered with jam and he devoured these with similar speed.

When everything was gone including the crumbs and Merlin had licked his fingers clean he slumped back onto the floor. The food was an uncomfortable lump in his stomach but he knew that he would eat more just as greedily if it was put in front of him. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut Merlin allowed his frustration to wash over him. He wanted to cry or stamp his foot or throw something. He didn’t. He just sat there waiting as the frustration melted leaving him in a stupor. The thought trudged across his mind that he had to go back to fighting. He had to get to his magic and break whatever cage Alator held him in. He would do that. Of course he would. He just needed a few more minutes of not doing or feeling and then he would get back to work.

Once again the awareness of movement disturbed Merlin’s torpor. His first thought as his conscious mind reasserted himself was that perhaps he was being brought more food. His next thought was to be annoyed with himself for caring about that. Still, Merlin could not keep the hope from his eyes as he looked about him.

There was no more food. Daisy had come into Merlin’s little prison and she was looking down on him with a concerned expression.

“You don’t look well, Merlin. Fighting only makes it worse. You need to conserve your strength or you’ll do yourself an injury.”

Merlin did not deign to answer.

“I know I’m not your favorite person right now,” Daisy said as she settled herself on the floor a little ways in front of Merlin. “But, I did not betray you. I made you no promises. I did not lie to you. That was all Alator. I merely made a decision that I believe will best serve my people. That is my obligation.”

Merlin made a scoffing sound. She might be technically correct that she had not betrayed him but she had not dealt in good faith either.

“I can be your friend, Merlin. I would like to be.” Daisy continued when Merlin said nothing else.

“If you want to be my friend, Daisy, help me.” The last two words came out more desperately than Merlin intended.

“Right now I can’t do anything for you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t.” Daisy confessed readily. “But you and I both know that Alator cannot hold you forever- even Alator knows it. Though, I’d be willing to bet he has less time than he thinks he has.”

“So you’re offering to help me but only after I don’t need it?” Merlin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to clear his head. He didn’t understand what Daisy wanted. He didn’t care how or when she and Alator turned on each other. He wanted his magic back. He wanted to get rid of the feeling of loss and worse the dread of further loss.

“I would like to help you now except that, though he is a man of limited vision and limited ability, there are still things Alator must teach you.”

“What can I learn when I’m like this?” Merlin demanded bitterly. The Druids had knowledge and skill. That was undeniable. Merlin’s power, as great as it was, could still be honed by study and experiment. But, how could Merlin explore his magic while he was cut off from it and bleeding from the separation?

“But you are already learning.” Daisy smiled. “Think about how you feel now. Think about what your life is now. You have a taste of what it means to be without magic. There is a hole inside you deep enough to swallow your capacity for happiness, love, warmth. You feel a yearning so strong you cannot stand upright under it. If you could never get your magic back could you go on living? Would you want to?”

Merlin didn’t answer. He couldn’t think about it. He would get his magic back so Daisy’s questions were irrelevant.

“Now,” Daisy went on. “Consider those you think of as friends. Think about where you have chosen to bestow your loyalty. Think about your Arthur. This is what it means to be them. They are only partially alive. They wander through the world blind, deaf and dumb and the worst part of it is they don’t even understand it. They don’t see how miserable, how bereft of meaning their lives are.”

“You can pity them, Merlin. Out of compassion, you can try to make their lives a little less bleak. You can be amused by their company and feel genuine affection but they’re not people. It’s true sometimes they are useful but some of them are vicious and their numbers can make them dangerous if they are not properly managed.”

“Oh, come on, Daisy. Pull the other one.” Merlin said unimpressed. “You’re smarter than that. Just tell me what you really want.”

The line of Daisy’s habitually smiling mouth firmed and Merlin’s eyes widened. “You’re not smarter than that?” Merlin asked cautiously. Daisy’s expression hardened further.

Merlin threw his hands into the air in exasperation. He didn’t know where to begin. Argument failed and left him only ridicule. “All right, what else can I look forward to learning once I’ve mastered contempt for Arthur, my friends, the greater part of the human race and my own mother?”

For several moments Daisy continued to look at Merlin. There was reproach in her eyes and something else. Merlin was abruptly uneasy that beneath Daisy’s calm there was a volcano ready to erupt. Did molten waves of suppressed rage constantly churn beneath Daisy’s misleading composure? Suddenly, Merlin could believe there were. Merlin found himself struck by the question of what he would do if she started hitting him- physically, with her fragile, shriveled fists. Would he be able to defend himself without actually having to hit her back? The question worried him and then the absurdity of that nearly made him laugh.

Merlin was spared having to find out for certain what he do would because when Daisy’s expression broke it reformed into a gentle smile. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we were all as clever as we think we are, Merlin. Though your question was meant to mock, I shall answer it.” Daisy settled more comfortably into her gentle smile. “It is a lesson Alator may not intend to teach but vital to your education nonetheless. In the weeks- maybe months- you spend like this, you will learn to plan vengeance. And when you finally free yourself you will learn the immense satisfaction of achieving your vengeance. Once you destroy Alator your priorities will have shifted. You will understand the primacy of magic. You and I could be allies in reshaping the world.”

“I am not as malleable as you seem to think, Daisy.” 

“Are you not?” Daisy asked with a delicately arched brow. “The first thing Alator will do when he has the time to fully address his attention to you is to start practicing all his techniques of inflicting pain on that knight who came with you. I am not squeamish but I do not think that I will care to watch.”

“The knight will die in agony but Alator will offer to hold back. He will offer to pause in his trade if you will agree to do something for him. I don’t know what.” Daisy gave a little shrug. “It will be something small at first; something you can convince yourself doesn’t really matter in the long run. But, once you give in, he will have you. The knight will die sooner rather than later if your obedience makes Alator merciful but then he will find someone else and the game will begin again. Eventually you will find that the prospect of another’s suffering no longer moves you to comply with Alator’s demands and that is yet another lesson for you.”

“Why would you want this, Daisy? Why would you want me to feel like that? Who benefits if I go mad? Don’t you know that I could do terrible things?” It was already so hard to know how best to use his magic. He was terrified of what he would become if he were driven from his destiny by anger or vengeance. Why wasn’t Daisy scared too?

“So you might.” Daisy shrugged. “But the world is practiced in surviving the excesses of mad wizards.”

“But why?” Merlin could not fathom it. Alator would try to break him to gain control of his magic, Merlin didn’t doubt that but Daisy seemed to suggest that Alator’s efforts would leave Merlin’s magic beyond anyone’s control at all. “Who benefits if I- if I .. . .” ‘become a monster’ were the words Merlin could not bring himself to say. “How will magic ever be accepted? How can there ever be peace if we feud among ourselves, giving in to our worst impulses?”

Daisy’s expression remained impassive but an idea was slowly forming in Merlin’s mind. “You don’t want magic to be accepted? No, that’s not it. You don’t want magic to be . . .” Merlin struggled for the word, “Safe?”

“You have incredible gifts, Merlin- incredible. Yet, you are ready to defile those gifts by warping them, breaking them to the wishes of those far beneath you.” Daisy regarded Merlin with an emotion akin to pity. “Don’t you understand? Good impulses, bad impulses, either way magic must do as it wills. Magic is free and unrestrained, wild and savage. Those of us who are a part of it cannot be bound by rules. It cannot be for some King, for some magicless barbarian to say what magic may or may not do. It cannot be for some simpleton with no conception of what it truly means to have power to make rules about how and when and why magic can be a part of the world. We are not like normal men and women. We are better. We do as we wish. We recognize no boundary but our own ability. We are not subject to anyone’s judgment.”

“You would throw away your own freedom for the sake of an infatuation.” Daisy let out a long breath as though it were a lifetime’s worth of hope. “That would be your own decision however foolish, but sorcerers and mundane men cannot be subject to the same law. Magic can endure a hundred Caesars and a thousand Uthers. Magic can be feared or hated or worshiped. It may be persecuted and oppressed or it may terrorize and dominate. It will be kind and gentle and cruel and violent by turns. All this is in the nature of magic but magic cannot be domesticated. It cannot be made ‘civilized’.”

Again Daisy took in and let out a deep breath- recovering from the ordeal of excavating truths buried deep beneath layers of subtle calculation. “I have many plans, Merlin, and only some of them need anything of you- Emrys or not. Still, I would like us to be friends. You are young and you have much to learn but once you have overcome this little obstacle we could help one another.”

“Is that what you said to Alator?” Merlin demanded. Daisy’s words sat in his mind as an undifferentiated mass. Try as he might he could not shape them into something coherent. Daisy seemed to want chaos.

“You are stronger than Alator and smarter.” Daisy smiled.

“Smart enough to have nothing to do with you. I am disappointed in you, Daisy. Truly, I expected better.”

“I promise you, Merlin, the disappointment is mutual.” Daisy’s voice went cold for a moment but quickly regained its patience. “It is my hope that we will both come to think better of each other in time.”


	17. Chapter 17

Near the Druid camp, Arthur and his party dismounted and hobbled their horses. Iseldir insisted that this was proper and as Arthur had no desire to subject their loyal mounts to the Mór Cruinniú’s fading illusions he made no objection. Arthur would have preferred not to subject himself to the Mór Cruinniú’s illusions either. Arthur respected reality and the physical world and it upset him deeply to see them trifled with. But, it could not be helped. Somewhere within that illusion were Merlin and Gawain, so in they would go.

A few steps in and Arthur began to hope it was not going to be as bad as it had appeared from the hilltop. Yes, shapes, outlines and dimension were changing but it was almost subtle. If he tried he could nearly convince himself that the shifting forms could be accounted for by the play of light and shadow- nearly.

Timon, Julia, Arthur and Iseldir walked side-by-side through the camp. The knights and two remaining Druids followed close at their heels. From the corner of his eye Arthur watched as Gareth and Elyan turned from side to side as though their heads were on swivels. Damn it if the two weren’t finding the bizarre scenery interesting. ‘Idiots’, Arthur thought to himself but there was no anger in it and strangely his own nervousness diminished a fraction. 

Arthur glanced to his other side to check on Leon and Percival. At least some of his knights had sense enough to be spooked. Not that anyone else would have been able to tell. The two older knights were doing a banner job impersonating stone giants.

A small hitch, a barely perceptible catch in the pace of the woman walking next to him suddenly drew all Arthur’s attention. He gave no indication of having noticed anything though, and he kept his arms resolutely at his sides. He would do her no favor if he reached out to steady her. Julia, Iseldir and Timon had to be near the end of their endurance but the further they moved toward the center of the Mór Cruinniú the straighter the Druids’ backs and the firmer their steps became- Julia’s one small readjustment notwithstanding. Arthur watched the rescued Druids with dispassionate admiration. They needed to be strong. They knew it and so they would be. It was as simple as that.

It was more than an appreciation for grace under pressure that had Arthur willing strength into the people beside him. He needed them to succeed. He needed them to face down Alator and his cronies. He needed them to emerge as the voice of the Druid people. Arthur needed that because that was how he was going to get his own people back. Arthur wanted his people back.

Finally, the strange procession came to a halt before a large stone circle. Each stone jutted twenty feet in the air and a similarly massive stone rested a top each pair of verticals slabs. In this one case, Arthur hoped that he was seeing an illusion because he didn’t have much confidence in the stability of the structure. 

Whether it was an illusion or not there was some magic involved as the gaps between the pillars could not be seen through. The air cascaded like water between the stones scattering light and shattering perception. Inside the stone pillars and magic barrier lay the heart of the Mór Cruinniú. 

Arthur became suddenly aware of people. He saw no one but his knights and the few Druids who had come with him but he knew there were others. The weight of unseen eyes pressed in upon him but Arthur did not flinch from their scrutiny. 

Julia took a step toward the circle. Arthur moved beside her but Julia held out a hand to stop him. “This is not a place for outsiders.” The words were spoken softly but they felt loud in the quiet.

Arthur set his jaw. He did not wish to interfere in Druid business. They needed to put their house in order and they would not quickly forgive anyone witnessing their internal strife. Yet, while Gawain and Merlin remained in the Druids’ hands Arthur could not withdraw. 

“My people?” Arthur knew his demand would make Julia’s task more difficult but he did not see a way around that.

“Once the Mór Cruinniú has met, I will inquire after your people.” Julia’s words and tone were imperious but her eyes begged for patience. Seconds passed, eyes peered from the shadows, whispers wrapped in magical silence filled the air.

Arthur took a step back and inclined his head. Julia’s shoulders relaxed. Arthur had no recourse to silent speech and he was conscious of those watching them but all the same he hoped Julia understood that he would not wait long. 

One by one the five Druids, Alator had had kidnapped and locked in cages to deprive them of their magic entered the circle. As the last one disappeared, Arthur raised his hand to signal his knights: ‘keep close’, ‘stay together’.

In response Leon turned slightly so that he was shielded from the still largely invisible but attentive crowd. It was unlikely that any Druid would understand their hand gestures but Leon was always cautious. With a slight turn of his lips, Leon made the signal ‘wait until the prey breaks cover’. The knights smiled to themselves and Arthur felt mildly reassured. The Druids’ ability to communicate silently among themselves had become increasingly irritating to Arthur and it was pleasant to have his own means of private speaking- even if the vocabulary was very limited.

The surrounding darkness grew thicker with gathering people. Arthur saw constant movement, the flicker of shadows that only briefly resolved themselves into human figures before merging with other shadows. Something was different, though. Arthur no longer felt that he and his knights were the entire focus of the crowd’s attention.

Whatever was transpiring behind the magical barrier consumed the surrounding Druids. Arthur could not help but be curious. Julia and Alator, Mordred and Iseldir were they dueling- garish streaks of light arcing back and forth between them? Were they shouting through their silence? Who did the Druids want to side with? Was it a matter of who had the best argument or who could summon the most power? In the world Arthur knew, it was always some tangle of both but in Arthur’s world power was measured in a hundred different ways. 

Here magic was the only measure of power that Arthur could see- but were there varieties of magic, shades and subtleties? To Arthur, it all seemed one chaotic mass where causes were ripped, screaming, from their effects and premises were bound arbitrarily to conclusions. Yet, Merlin had wanted so desperately to convince him that not all magic was the same. And there was a case to be made, wasn’t there? Merlin, Morgana, Alator, Iseldir, Aydan, Nimue, Fallon, Gaius the power commanded by each did not differ merely in quantity.

Such thoughts were distractions. Arthur vexed himself with the turbulent questions because as he stood stiff-backed and stony-faced looking out into the darkness he knew he didn’t dare think about Merlin and Gawain. If he thought of them, he would not be able to stop himself going after them and damn whatever nonsense was happening behind him. 

So, Arthur thought about magic and the Mór Cruinniú and what he would do if he were in Julia’s place. Then he thought what he would do if he were in Alator’s place. He planned a hundred paths to peace and he planned a hundred paths to war. He considered tactics and strategy and he tried to wrap his mind around the ways tactics and strategy changed when magic was introduced. He did this until his head ached, his body burned with suppressed energy and there were no more distractions to be had.

“It has been long enough.” As Arthur spoke he felt some of the tension drain away from his muscles. Around him the knights all showed signs of relief. Gareth’s eyes brightened, Elyan and Percival smiled and Leon shifted his weight forward in a very subtle show of eagerness. Arthur had just opened his mouth again to lay out a search strategy when the flickering barrier to the Mór Cruinniú center dissolved briefly and Edith and Edwin emerged.

The two Druids looked beyond weary but they gave the knights haggard smiles. “The Catha have agreed to guide us to their guests.” As Edith spoke one of Alator’s servants emerged from somewhere off to the left and stood motionless.

Arthur did not like the phrasing Edith had used ‘agreed’, ‘guide’ and ‘guests’- not the right words at all. But, if they had come to the point where it was time to let a defeated enemy save face then Arthur could deal with that for the time being. “We are grateful.” Arthur made sure his voice was neutral and thoroughly scrubbed of sarcasm.

The Catha, Arthur could not decide if he had seen him before but he did not differ in any way Arthur could discern from Messenger, continued to stand rigidly still, apparently waiting. “Please.” Arthur said very correctly when it became clear that something was wanted. Inclining his head graciously, their guide began to lead the group through the camp.

“How is it going in there?” Gareth asked Edith quietly. The young knight had offered the Druid his arm for support while Elyan hovered attentively near Edwin.

Gareth should not have asked, Arthur thought annoyed. Asking for anything- even for information could be construed as weakness in this situation. As Gareth had asked, though, Arthur found he very much wanted to hear the answer.

“So much of what has happened is unprecedented.” Edith spoke softly but not so softly that she could not be heard by the knights and the Catha- Arthur had decided to think of as Messenger for convenience. Once Gawain was back with them he would think of something clever to call him. “But, I think we are coming to something of a consensus. The Mór Cruinniú will have to start again from the beginning.”

Arthur considered that this was probably good news. He had watched Messenger for a reaction but Alator’s servant’s expression did not change. He had probably already known what Edith was going to say. Arthur had to keep reminding himself that the Druids could share information among themselves without the need to speak.

Messenger led the knights through rows of tents, around fires and circles outlined by stones or branches. The illusion was gone now and Arthur wondered if that was because the Mór Cruinniú was going to be restarted or whether the initial spell had just run out of power. Arthur wondered what Kay would think about spells to make everything appear grand for special occasions. Such magic would make the seneschal’s life a lot less stressful. Or, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe the illusion took as much effort and attention to detail as the real thing. Either way Arthur couldn’t see Kay being pleased.

Finally, Messenger came to a halt in front of a tent. The tent was indistinguishable as far as Arthur could see to the half dozen around it. With more haste than precision Arthur tore at the lacings keeping the tent flaps closed. When the lacings were gone Arthur shoved through the canvas and walked inside into darkness. There was no light at all and it was not until Leon, who had been close on Arthur’s heels, turned back and retrieved one of the torches that stood around the camp at intervals that anything could be seen.

When there was light Arthur charged forward to where Gawain was lying with wrists and ankles tied together and secured to the ground with stakes. Gawain’s face was bruised and swollen and he did not appear to stir at the commotion. Arthur searched for a pulse at Gawain’s throat and sighed with relief when he felt the rhythmic beating. Arthur and Elyan set about cutting through Gawain’s bonds as Leon held the torch. Percival, Gareth, Edwin and Edith crowded at the tent opening peering in but they did not having enough room to enter.

As soon as the last rope fell away, Gawain surged up and he would have punched Elyan in the face if the young knight had not instinctively fallen backward.

“Gawain! Gawain, it’s just us. It’s all right.” Arthur tried to calm the knight who was trying to scrabble to his feet punching and kicking blindly as he did so.

For a moment more, Gawain fought on not able to process what was happening. When realization finally dawned, Gawain fell back against Elyan’s chest and started to laugh.

“It’s all right.” Elyan reassured, supporting his friend as he continued to laugh.

“Are you injured?” Arthur asked, not liking the bruises that covered every part of Gawain he could see.

“Right as rain.” Gawain answered. He was still giggling a little as he half lay on the ground letting Elyan hold his weight.

“Merlin!” Gawain said suddenly sobering. “They took Merlin, the bastards. I don’t know-“

“It’s all right.” Arthur said reaching for Gawain’s shoulder. “We’re going to find Merlin in just a moment. Just take it easy.”

Gawain nodded. Taking a deep breath, Gawain looked about. He smiled as he saw Leon and Percival. His brow wrinkled when he took in Gareth but he recognized him in the next moment and smiled again. “Hello.” Gawain said finally noticing Edith.

“Are you hurt?” Edith asked squeezing into the tent beside Leon.

“If I were would you kiss it better?” Gawain asked with a loopy grin that said ‘now you can’t really be offended by a man in my condition, now can you.’

“We don’t have time for that, Gawain.” Arthur sighed getting to his feet. He was glad to have Gawain back without a fight but now all his focus was bent on finding Merlin.

“There’s always time.” Gawain answered but only to be contrary as he too tried to struggle to his feet. His own mind was filled with Merlin. He had let his friend down and he needed to put that right.

“Careful.” Elyan advised as he held onto a wobbling Gawain.

Biting his lip, Arthur considered. “Should you rest? Elyan can stay with you.” Arthur was reluctant to split up but Gawain was very shaky on his feet.

“I’m going to assume you’re joking.” Gawain intended to stride purposefully out of the tent but his feet and legs were slow to receive the instruction and he teetered precariously until Elyan steadied him.

“We will be back as soon as we can.” Arthur told Elyan already turning toward the rest of the knights. 

Edith touched Arthur’s arm halting his progress. “I could do a small healing spell.”

“She could do a small healing spell.” Gawain agreed, immediately abandoning the only other line of argument he had managed to think up in the last few seconds which was simply to repeat himself but in a louder tone of voice.

“It’s up to you, Gawain . . .” Arthur trailed off but Gawain could imagine what he was going to say ‘but you don’t even know her’, ‘but you are far from home and safety, what if something goes wrong’, ‘but do you really want to invite a sorcerer to have power over you right now’.

These were all fair points and Gawain considered. He didn’t know the woman but she looked like a nice Druid lady. Given the number of hostile Druids Gawain had recently encountered he felt that by dint of sheer statistics he was bound to come across a nice one sooner rather than later. Besides, she had to be somewhat trustworthy or Arthur would have forbidden it out right. Plus, she had pretty eyes. As for the rest of it, Gawain couldn’t say he was eager to have magic done on him. He believed magic could be benign, of course, but it was still strange. In the end, none of that mattered though. “I want to find Merlin.”

Arthur shrugged and Edith stepped forward. “I’m Edith and this won’t hurt a bit.”

Before Gawain’s fuddled senses could turn that statement into an innuendo Edith’s eyes burned gold.

“I think that’s better.” Gawain murmured checking himself over carefully. He was still sore and he was more aware of a sharp pain in his shoulder than he had been but he wasn’t having trouble with his balance anymore and the swelling around his right eye had gone down enough so that he could see out of it.

“You’ll want a lot of rest in a few hours.” Edith advised, pleased with her success.

“Thanks.” Gawain said still speaking softly. He hoped that the need to rest wouldn’t hit him too urgently or dramatically.

“Ready?” Arthur looked Gawain over carefully trying to gauge his state of health.

“Ready.”

Striding from the tent in which Gawain had been held, Arthur went to stare expectantly at the Catha. “All right, where is Merlin?” Arthur demanded. 

The Catha had stood back and watched impassively as Gawain was released. Now he regarded Arthur for several long seconds before briefly inclining his head and leading the way once again through the sprawling Druid camp.

“So, what’s going on? And why are we following Shirtless the Second?” Gawain whispered to Percival. The sight of the Catha had sent a spike of adrenaline through him. His memory was a trifle fuzzy around the edges but he was fairly sure that they were all meekly following a man who had very recently kicked him in the ribs.

Percival squeezed Gawain’s shoulder and mouthed, “Later.”

Gawain wanted to insist but finally he thought better of it. “At least lend me your knife.”

Without a word, Percival leaned down, drew a long knife from his boot and handed it to Gawain. Smiling Gawain hefted the metal, skillfully tossing it from hand to hand before slipping it into his belt.

The crunch and shuffle of their footsteps was the only sound for long minutes. As the Catha continued his maddeningly slow pace without any appearance of nearing a destination, Arthur felt his anxiety grow. Against his will he was seeing images of Merlin hanging in one of the iron cages they had found in the fortress dungeon. It was almost unendurable and it seemed like Arthur would have to start shouting in the next second or he would go mad. And yet the seconds passed and he continued to follow the Catha and there was only the sound of their footsteps. 

Finally, the Catha stopped outside a circle that had been marked out by small tree branches that had been laid on the ground. Without pausing, Arthur stepped over the sticks into the circle. There was not much light, just the faint glow of a torch several yards outside the circle and pale moonlight. 

Looking around Arthur saw a blanket and a tray. He bent down and saw that there was a plate of bread and cheese on the tray. Frowning Arthur picked up a corner of the blanket and flung it aside. He was about to stand up again when he noticed something else. He knew what it was as soon as he picked it up but he still left the circle and went nearer to the torch to look at it more closely. It was Merlin’s neckerchief.

“Where is he?” Arthur asked in a voice that surprised him with how calm it seemed.

“Lord Emrys was staying here the last that I was told.” The Catha answered smoothly. Gawain cursed and rushed toward the Catha. Percival and Elyan moved to intercept their friend before he could attack Alator’s minion.

Dismissing the Catha from his attention, Arthur called his knights to form up around him. As they did so he started off in the direction of the camp center.

“My lord?” Edwin asked. The Druid had to jog a little to keep up with Arthur’s pace. Arthur considered ignoring the man. He was angry and he was scared on top of that which made him angrier. He had tried to be reasonable and it was clear the Catha had taken advantage of that. Well, he was done being reasonable.

“Please, my lord. What are you-” Edwin repeated before he was cut off. The man was clearly nervous about what Arthur's plans.

“It’s time I talked with Alator.” He would talk to Alator and then Alator would tell him where Merlin was and what he had done with him. How much else happened besides that was up to the Druid.

Though Arthur and the knights had been taken around the Druid camp in a deliberately circuitous manner, in the absence of the glamour Arthur felt confident he could find his way to the Mór Cruinniú without help. With that in mind he moved quickly. He ignored the Catha who was still moving with them.

“Arthur.” Edwin took a hold of Arthur’s arm meaning to halt him or at least slow him but Arthur pushed him off. He might have struck the Druid. His battle instincts were fully engaged and his anxiety and frustration had him primed for violence but ultimately Arthur didn’t want to spare the time.

“Alator is no longer in council.” Edwin spoke with greater insistence but he kept his hands to himself this time.

“What?” Arthur did not stop but he did slow down.

“He left as soon as it was decided to begin the Mór Cruinniú again and right before we came out to find Gawain and Emrys.” Edith explained as she stumbled up beside Edwin. Both Druids looked terrible. Arthur came to an abrupt stop and turned toward them.

“Why didn’t someone stop him?”

Edwin and Edith regarded him blankly. “How . . . Under what authority . . .?” 

Arthur shook his head to abandon this line of question. To his mind it was incomprehensible that Alator should have left the council except under guard but as he thought about it he realized that Alator appeared to be the only Druid he had thus far seen with an armed and liveried entourage. Had Alator done something to them? The question immediately reduced his animosity toward the oddly similar bare-chested men. 

“Where would he have gone?” 

Neither Edwin nor Edith answered immediately and Arthur’s gaze strayed to the Catha who had already led them a merry dance. Gawain was already staring daggers at the man but the Catha did not seem perturbed by their scrutiny. Did he know his master’s plans? And if he did could he be made to tell them? Arthur let out his breath in an exasperated huff and turned away. 

“He wouldn’t stay here.” Arthur reasoned out loud. “He would want to take Merlin and get as far away from here as possible. Let’s get back to the horses. Maybe we can find some sign of where they went.”

“He might have gone west.” Edith suggested as everyone turned back to the outskirts of the camp. “The Catha, more than most of us, keep to specific territory that they have made safe for themselves.”

Arthur nodded. They would start looking in that direction first as soon as they could reclaim their horses.

“Look!” Percival called out suddenly as they once again made their way through the Druid camp. The ground was slightly higher where they happened to be standing and Percival pointed off into the distance. Following his gaze Arthur could make out riders outlined against the horizon. In the next minute the figures were lost as clouds obscured the moonlight. “It’s got to be them.”

“Are you sure?” The riders had indeed been heading westerly but Arthur had not been able to make out enough detail.

“One of the horses was carrying double.” Percival asserted. “They are only a couple of miles out.”

The knights had retraced their steps to where their horses had been hobbled but while they were still more than twenty yards away they stopped. Between the knights and their mounts half a dozen Catha stood with determined faces. The horses had been untied and they were looking about themselves nervously. Their own Catha surged ahead to join his fellows making seven men total. Gawain cursed and Percival murmured under his breath. Arthur, though he had been nearly vibrating with tension for the last two days, seemed to calm. He was once again drawn to the still center.

“Stand aside!” Arthur called to the gathered Catha. With an easy practiced motion that required none of his attention he drew his sword. Behind him he heard the gratifying scrape of metal against metal as the knights drew their own swords.

“Please don’t be rash.” Edwin pleaded at Arthur’s elbow. There was no way to be certain but Arthur guessed by Edith’s intense expression that she was attempting to reason with the Catha. “We cannot have violence here. It goes against everything the Mór Cruinniú stands for.”

“That ship’s already sailed, mate!” Gawain called out lightly touching his bruised face.

Edwin returned Gawain an apologetic look but it was clear that for the Druids what had happened to Gawain didn’t count.

“Give Auntie and Iseldir time.” Edwin went on. “Once the Mór Cruinniú is settled a search can be organized for Emrys. Now is not the time to upset things. Please.”

Arthur ignored the Druid at his side and studied the Druids ahead of him. Some of them held swords loosely in their hands, the long curve of their strange blades glinting dully. Others had fire at their fingertips and they looked out at the knights with golden eyes. Arthur raised his chin refusing to be intimidated. The knights of Camelot had faced sorcerers before and they had won. They had faced sorcerers without Merlin before and they had won. Arthur did not believe Alator’s lackeys would be gifted with strong magic. He moved toward the Catha.

“Please!” Edwin asked again all but dancing around Arthur in his agitation. Edith had joined him.

“We won’t kill anyone we don’t have to.” This was the only concession Arthur could make.

“Move back now.” Leon told them softly, urging them with his free hand behind the Camelot line.

As the knights closed in, one of the Catha began chanting near the horses. Not liking what this portended Arthur charged. The Catha came forward and the lines met with the clash of metal. The horses had started to panic, rearing and screaming and tearing off in all directions.

Arthur began the attack with the flat of his blade. He did not want to kill these Druids and he hoped that they would quickly disburse when they saw Camelot would not back down. Arthur was once again conscious of eyes in the dark. If one of these Catha died Arthur could not ignore the possibility that the mass of Druids who had thus far remained hidden might be moved to join in the fight. 

Luckily it seemed the Catha did not have the heart for a bloody fight themselves for though they crossed swords with the knights the violence seemed to shift to brawling. Arthur had only a moment to be relieved by this when he felt himself shoved backward several feet. The scar left by the magic fire exploded in his chest and he staggered. There was a blur of bodies and a dark shape was intercepted by a red and white shape as Leon tackled one of the Catha who was trying to take advantage of Arthur’s daze. There was a jumble of flailing limbs but then Leon gained position, straddling his opponent and raining down fists to his face.

Arthur looked about him. His chest hurt. The pain spun him into a visceral memory of his time in the Saxon cave. Fear and bitter cold clutched at him and it took him moments to recover himself. Meanwhile he saw Elyan shoved backward by invisible hands but Gwen’s brother was moving forward again in the next moment. Gawain was shouting insults as he circled with another of the Catha. Arthur worried for a moment because Gawain’s stance was wrong and his movements much clumsier than what they usually were. Intending to help, Arthur shook off the pain induced memories and moved to support Gawain. Before he could reach the knight, however, Edith came in behind the Catha. She had found a tree branch somewhere and, wielding it like a club, she struck Gawain’s attacker. As the Catha turned to deal with the new threat Gawain launched himself at the man. Not too far off, Edwin was hovering close to Percival’s bulk using the big man as a shield from behind which he hurled his own spells.

Arthur had not expected that- help from Edwin and Edith. As he thought on it though, it occurred to him that they had reason enough to fight the Catha. Their earlier attempts at peacemaking were surely sincere but once battle had been joined they did not seem to want to stand on the sidelines like the other Druids. Arthur found himself smiling.

There was chaos and Arthur was looking around for someone to fight. There were seven Catha including the one that had walked them around the Druid camp while Alator made good his escape and there were eight fighters for Camelot including Edwin and Edith. To Arthur’s educated eye, it looked as though the Catha were playing for delay and stalemate. They kicked and punched and scratched and they defended themselves with their swords and small spells but they stopped short of anything that might compel one of the knights to answer with deadly force. 

As Arthur watched he was caught by another shiver that lanced through him from the magically inflicted wound. He had told Edwin that they wouldn’t kill anyone they didn’t have to but had he really meant that as policy? He was just trying to calm the distraught Druid. Why not kill these men quickly so that they could be on their way to save Merlin? Better men than these had died for less. Alator deserved no mercy from Arthur. And yet Arthur would never wish to see his own men held to account for his sins. Arguments so familiar they did not need to be translated into words pushed and pulled at Arthur. Just as he started to move forward to help Gareth subdue one of the Catha who had managed to land a sharp elbow in the knight’s ribs Arthur caught sight of Hengroen a few paces off stamping nervously.

“Hello there.” Arthur cooed softly to the horse. The other horses had scattered and were presumably galloping through the Druid camp: the Cathas’ spells being the equivalent of a bur under the saddle. Hengroen had calmed quickly though and made his way back to the action. The stallion still wasn’t happy. He was skittish and his eyes rolled back when Arthur moved toward him too quickly. “All right, hush, now.”

Being careful Arthur was able to take hold of Hengroen’s bridle and he let the horse share breath with him for a few moments. After that Arthur mounted and surveyed the melee from the higher vantage. The knights were winning- but slowly. It would be a while before they would be able to break-off from the fight and chase down the horses. In that time Alator would be getting further and further away. Arthur needed to stop him. His knights would join him as they were able. Still talking softly to Hengroen, Arthur turned the horse’s head in the direction Alator had last been seen and urged him forward.  
*  
The second meal that was brought into Merlin’s prison was devoured as greedily as the first. The third time, however, Merlin found that his hunger had passed beyond the point where food held any appeal. He picked at the stew that had been set down beside him, trying to rekindle some spark of hope or desire but in the end he just didn’t want it.

Merlin was getting sick- actually sick. His emotional and psychological suffering had fully overcome his body. He ached everywhere because his body did not know where to hurt when the pain was inside. He was hot and sweating. Swallowing in a throat that felt swollen Merlin untied his neckerchief. The fresh air across the damp skin of his neck was a relief. He dipped the cloth into the cup of water that had come with the stew. In an attempt to draw off some of the heat that clung to him he wiped at his face and forehead. He squeezed the tepid water into his hair and for a few moments it was better. Two more meals were brought to Merlin but he did not bother to stir himself for either.

A thought occurred to Merlin as he lay still, idly wondering if this was the sickest he had ever been or whether that distinction still belonged to one of his poisonings. He recalled that he had been able to communicate- in a way- with Arthur once despite his sickness. Perhaps he could do so again. He needed to warn Arthur away from this place. Merlin understood now that he would not breakthrough to his own magic soon. Perhaps he might never- but Merlin pushed that thought away even as tears sprang into his eyes. In his state it did not occur to Merlin that his magic had not been compromised the one time he had reached through delirium to Arthur and so he tried. He called out. He spoke Arthur’s name again and again but it was no good. His thoughts were trapped in his own head and they reverberated like cannon in his skull. It wasn’t fair; Merlin’s magic had always come to him when he was desperate enough. Nothing honed Merlin’s power like a threat to Arthur. And now Merlin was desperate and Arthur was in danger but there was nothing . . . nothing.

“Arthur?” Merlin murmured as someone entered his prison and knelt beside him. He knew it wasn’t Arthur but the hope still forced the sound from his lips. It really wasn’t Arthur, Merlin realized as he was hauled into a sitting position by a firm grip on his arms. Merlin regarded Alator with glazed eyes as his head rolled on his neck. Alator looked cross.

“Now, what have you done to yourself?” It was gently asked and Merlin decided it was rhetorical.

Releasing one of Merlin’s arms, Alator touched the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead pushing back the damp strands of hair. Alator’s gaze took on the vaguely unfocused look that Merlin had come to associate with a silent conversation. In the next moment, the man with Alator- it looked so much like Messenger but there was a sameness to Alator’s Catha that disoriented Merlin- brought a large robe that he and Alator wrestled Merlin into. Merlin made the process as difficult as he could. He was already so hot and the heavy wool that swathed him from head to foot felt smothering.

His struggle was entirely ineffectual though and when it was done, the Catha heaved him up and across his shoulders like a sack of flour. From there Alator led them quickly through the camp. Merlin was not in a position to observe much even if he hadn’t been concerned with nausea and a splitting headache but he did catch an occasional glimpse of the world around him. The glamour that had been so pervasive when he and Gawain had first arrived at the Mór Cruinniú was gone. Stomach lurching, Merlin lacked the wherewithal to consider what that might mean.

The three men came to a fenced area where horses were corralled. They stopped and Merlin was set down on the ground and propped against a bale of hay. He watched as Alator and his servant dashed about saddling horses, filling panniers and waterskins. When they were nearly finished Alator came to where Merlin slumped just as he had been left. Alator had a vial in his hand and he tipped Merlin’s head back and poured the contents down his throat. Merlin’s reactions were slow but when Alator let go of his head Merlin managed to spit out at least half the contents of the vial.

Alator slapped him- just hard enough to sting. “I will not have you further risk your health for spite, Emrys. You are sicker than you know and whether you wish to accept it or not I am trying to help you.”

This statement struck Merlin as hilarious. He giggled. The muscles in his face worked clumsily to create an expression of glee. Seeing Merlin’s mirth Alator’s expression darkened but he did nothing save move aside so that Messenger- if the Catha with Alator was not actually Messenger Merlin no longer had the wit to worry about it- could pick him up and get him on a horse. Messenger mounted behind the sorcerer holding him securely around the waist. Alator, now mounted himself, led the way from the corral and then beyond the Druid camp. When the small group reached the perimeter of the camp the horses were urged into a gallop.

They were running away. The sudden realization burst into Merlin’s addled consciousness like a ray of sunshine. If they were running away then something had gone wrong for Alator. More than that if they were leaving the Mór Cruinniú then Merlin could call kilgharrah without risking Gawain or the bulk of the Druids. Excitement overcoming physical weakness, Merlin threw his head back- whereupon it collided against Messenger’s chest. Scrunching his eyes in frustration, Merlin tilted his head more gently, opened his mouth and searched for the words of the Dragon Tongue that would summon kilgharrah to him.

No words came. They were there in his mind but they would not leave his throat. Fighting to overcome panic, Merlin tried again, then again. Finally, a whisper escaped his lips. It was nothing like the powerful roar that had come almost naturally when he had needed the dragon in the past. Merlin tried again but he had no more strength to put behind the summons. Stricken Merlin wondered how this could have happened. He felt sure that he would have been able to summon kilgharrah if he had done so the first time the thought had occurred to him- was that days ago? Now though, he did not have enough magic or enough strength or possibly enough something else entirely and Merlin’s last power- his last secret was gone.

Desolated, it was only Messenger’s firm grip around his waist that kept Merlin on the horse. He was grieving and afraid but exhaustion threatened to overwhelm everything else. Time passed. Merlin might have dozed. He experienced brief moments of alertness surrounded by a fugue like stupor. In one of his moments of lucidity he became aware that a thick mist had come in- scattering the moonlight and increasing the eeriness of the already surreal night. 

Eventually Alator drew to a halt. Jerked into awareness by the sudden stop Merlin looked about him. He could see nothing to explain why they had stopped but the fog had settled thickly now.

Messenger lifted Merlin down from the horse and set him on the ground. Merlin could not support his own weight and so he was carried several yards to a tree where he slumped to his knees as he leaned heavily against the trunk.

The horses were hobbled and Messenger went about collecting fuel for a fire. Though he had been too hot earlier, Merlin now felt too cold and he clutched the robe Alator had draped him in tightly about himself. He was miserable and there was a strong temptation for Merlin to close his eyes and wallow in his misery but events were afoot. Something was happening and whatever it was, Merlin- magic or no- meant to have some part in it.

When the fire was lit, Merlin crawled closer to it. The fog, so thick elsewhere, seemed to have retreated from the flames leaving the space around it clear. Merlin might have crawled into the blaze itself except that Alator had come and put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gone to plan.” Merlin said to Alator wrapping his arms tightly about himself and clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

“No.” Alator agreed and his smile was unpleasant. “Plans can change though and sometimes it all works out for the best.”

“So running away in the middle of the night, you’re pleased about that?”

“Oh, Emrys, I had such faith in my fellow druids.” Alator sounded genuinely wistful but Merlin was too cold to really laugh. “It did not take long to see that they are all fickle and spineless. They will follow whichever way the wind blows. I had counted on their support but now I see I am so much better off without their petty scruples and mewling complaints.”

“They turned you out, did they?” Merlin couldn’t help but be pleased. He had hoped that the Druids were capable of better than what Alator had led them to.

“I was merciful to several people I knew were my enemies and that has come back to me.” Alator sighed. “On top of that, it seems that your Arthur has the devil’s own luck.”

“Arthur . . .” Merlin could not hold the name back and Alator looked at him with an amusement Merlin found frightening.

“Yes. Somehow, the Once and Future King managed to find my old enemies and now he’s searching for you. He has to. No one ever accused Arthur Pendragon of being clever but even he must realize that he’s nothing without you.”

Agitated Merlin began to move. He looked about himself and shifted his body as though he would try to get to his feet. Alator had a hand out ready to restrain him but Merlin failed of his own accord. After a few moments of struggle he found himself lying on his side, his fingers nervously clutching at the brown druid’s robe wrapped around him.

“Easy now.” Alator soothed. “You must be careful. You should not be so ill this quickly. The spell is the gentlest of its kind but perhaps I underestimated how it would affect you. Truly, you harm yourself by struggling.”

Though he had undergone a series of setback recently, Alator had indeed convinced himself that- in the end- fortune would smile upon him. He already had Emrys. Even though he was concerned that Emrys was in a much worse state than he would have predicted, Alator was sure that given time he would find a way to restore something of the great sorcerer’s health while still keeping him safely away from his power. Gaining Emrys and the command of the Mór Cruinniú had been his whole goal to start with but now fate had intervened and put the Once and Future King in his grasp as well. Alator would have the greatest sorcerer to ever live as his apprentice and Albion’s prophesied war-king as his thrall. He would have the both of them and no need to concede anything to the too sly Scáthán Damhsóir or the enigmatic Mordred and his demented inamorata.

“Why . .. why are we here, Alator?” Merlin asked weakness and dread swirling in his belly.

“We are waiting for your King. He will join us soon and then we will continue on our way. Won’t you be pleased to be reunited.” Alator had tried but he had not been able to hold the nastiness back from his last sentence. Once and Future King or no, there was nothing to this Arthur Pendragon that deserved Emrys’s loyalty.

“Alator,” Merlin wet his lips and reached out to hold Alator’s arm. “Alator, let’s not wait. I- I don’t feel well. You were right. I struggled when I shouldn’t have. It was pride- just like you said. But, I don’t want to struggle anymore. I think if we could go on now to find a warm, safe place then I would feel better. I know there is so much you can teach me. I want to learn. Why bother with Arthur? Leave him be. What use is he to you, to us?”

“I shall be very pleased,” Alator said with a smile, “when you mean that.”

“Alator-“

“Don’t fret, my lord.” Alator’s smile was smug now as he disengaged his sleeve from Merlin’s beseeching grasp. “I shall not go so much further than you did before you lost your nerve. You must tell me, some day- when there is time, why you chose to give up your secrets and leave the shadows. They were your safety and your power and yet you gave them up . . . What did you imagine you would gain?”

“Alator . . .” Merlin again tried to get to his feet.

“Quiet now.” Alator pressed a finger to Merlin’s forehead and murmured in the old tongue. His eyes went gold and Merlin felt his limbs growing heavy- as though he were wrapped in a hundred blankets. For a moment, Merlin feared Alator would make him sleep but though he could no longer move he remained awake. Stooping, Alator moved Merlin’s limp form a bit further from the fire and positioned him with his back to a nearby tree.

Leaving Merlin there, Alator rose to his feet, took up his staff and made his way out into the mist. Though Merlin could not move, Alator had placed him far enough from the fire that he was not blinded by it and he had a view of the surrounding ground. Merlin stared for several moments and then- at the edge of his vision- he saw through the mist- armor glinting and sword held loosely in hand- Arthur striding purposefully forward.  
*  
At first, Arthur caught only occasional glimpses of his quarry as he rode through the night- pushing Hengroen at a pace that he knew the horse could maintain for hours. The horsemen ahead of him rose into and dipped out of his sight with the land and even when Arthur had the high ground sometimes the starlight was not enough to distinguish the running figures. Time and distance were difficult to judge but Arthur had faith in Hengroen and his own horsemanship and he believed he was gaining ground.

As the miles disappeared beneath him, Arthur became aware of a gathering mist. It immediately occurred to him that this mist was of magical origin and he shivered as the curling tendrils of fog seemed to reach for him. His chest ached but he told himself it was only with the memory of pain. Despite the mist Arthur kept Alator’s group in sight. He did not dare turn his attention back. He feared that if he let his gaze wander from his goal for even a second then he would lose them altogether.

To his surprise Arthur realized the group ahead of him was slowing down. He might have questioned his perceptions but, no- as he watched the two horses drew to a halt. Arthur eased his own pace slightly and watched in confusion as a bundle that he presumed was Merlin was pulled down from the second horse and carried a small distance away. 

They were setting up a camp of some kind Arthur thought, his confusion mounting. The only explanation that Arthur could conceive of as to why anyone would stop mid-chase was that Merlin was somehow too ill to go on. Arthur felt sick. Merlin had resembled nothing so much as a sack of onions as his captors moved him to and fro. Was he even conscious?

It occurred to Arthur as he brought Hengroen to a stop a minute’s walk from the fire and tethered him to a tree that he had no idea what he was walking in to. It then occurred to him that that really didn’t matter. He drew Excalibur and spun the sword with a twist of his wrist. ‘Just hold on, Merlin. I’m coming.’  
*


	18. Chapter 18

“If you release Merlin now and go on your way I won’t kill you tonight.” Arthur spoke loudly enough to be heard over the distance between himself and the man he immediately recognized from various descriptions as Alator but he kept his tone conversational.

“Is that brazen recklessness a strategy? Or are you just that stupid?” Alator inquired in the same tone. 

“A bit of both honestly.” Arthur drawled as he took in everyone’s position. Alator stood across the fire from him at a distance of about ten yards. The other Catha was skulking about to Arthur’s left and Merlin was to his right a little further back. Merlin’s eyes shone from his pale face. He looked ill but Arthur could not guess at his condition. He presumed Merlin was somehow magically restrained and his only comfort was that Alator seemed to want the sorcerer alive. Arthur could not move closer without losing sight of either Merlin or the other Catha so he stood firm where he was. “Merlin, are you all right?”

“Your concern is touching given how hard you tried to destroy everyone of his kind.” Alator sneered. Merlin had not answered Arthur but Alator half turned to address the sorcerer. “This is where you would give your loyalty, Emrys? I knew. I knew he was nothing. But you were so sure. Iseldir and so many others were convinced that the prophecy referred to more than a mere figurehead. I confess I almost began to doubt myself but it’s so clear. This man is nothing. There is no magic in him. The only thing even remotely special about him is the sword. I wonder. Does he even know how to use it?”

Just as Alator spoke his last word the other Catha came at Arthur attacking with a slashing saber strike aimed at Arthur’s throat. Arthur caught the swinging blade with his own knocking it aside. He then took up a defensive stance positioning himself carefully so that the Catha could not maneuver him into putting his back to Alator.

The attack had not surprised Arthur. It was his experience that sorcerers liked to have their little rants before striking and he had used the time afforded by Alator’s disdain to assess his options. He had noted the other Catha’s approach and he had seen that Merlin was in no condition to escape under his own power. The only thing Arthur couldn’t know was what magic Alator had to use against him. This was something that Arthur would never be able to properly plan for. The uncertainty made him cautious and he parried with the attacking Catha, unwilling to commit fully to a counter attack lest he be caught in the same moment with a sudden agonizing pain in his chest or a wave of invisible power pushing him back and upsetting his balance.

As Arthur and his opponent continued their back and forth and no magical interference manifested itself Arthur slowly began to fight more aggressively. Keeping one eye always on Alator, Arthur took a step backward and pretended to let his foot slip. In the next instant he was inside the Catha’s guard as Alator’s servant’s momentum helped Excalibur slide into him.

“So, you can fight.” Alator commented as Arthur pushed the dead man back and off his blade. “I did wonder if it was all tricks but it does seem like you can tell one end of a sword from the other. I will try to leave you that muscle memory if I can. It will be useful. It’s a pity that- by its nature- the quality of leadership never survives these sorts of spells but I don’t think that will matter. I’ll say this much for you, you look the part. Emrys and I can do the rest.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur demanded. He was coming to the conclusion that he had just killed a man to satisfy Alator’s curiosity and he no longer had the stomach to banter. His gaze shifted to Merlin who still had not moved. How was he going to break whatever hold Alator had over him? Was it something as simple as a ring or bracelet- something that could be physically removed? Arthur would have to get nearer to Merlin to find out

“What did you think would happen here?” Contempt twisted Alator’s features. “Did you think that all you needed to do was just turn up and your beloved ‘Merlin’ would put everything right for you? That’s how it’s always worked for you, isn’t it? You’re the one who walks through fire but you’re not the one who burns.”

“Well, Emrys cannot help you now.” Alator glared at Arthur- hating him because destiny had chosen Arthur. Emrys had chosen Arthur. Albion had chosen Arthur. Even after the Catha destroyed his spirit, the kingdom would still choose a magicless shell to be its king. It defied reason especially since there were other candidates to hand if people would just open their eyes. “Despite all his power Emrys can make mistakes. And following you is about the gravest mistake he could have made. You know you’re nothing without him. He knows it, too. And despite that he would help you now if he were able. Does that confuse you as much as it confuses me?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Arthur answered after he paused a moment to keep his conviction from sounding forced. He understood what Alator was threatening him with and he pressed back the gibbering terror. “No one wants the world you would build, Alator, not even the people you imagine you would be benefiting. Even if you ever did manage to find someone to share your vision, how could you ever trust each other?”

“I will bring peace to Albion.” Alator snarled. The world he wanted to create was the world as it was meant to be. If you were powerful enough then you didn’t need to trust anybody. That was what power meant. “I will restore the balance and vindicate magic. The people will be grateful.”

“Only if you use your magic to compel them. You think you make yourself stronger by making others weaker but that’s the reverse of how it works, Alator. A leader’s strength is built from the strengths of those who choose to follow him. You will never have more than yourself.” He was nearly dizzy with fear but he would not run. He would not let Alator see his fear.

“And yet that seems to be more than enough to deal with you.” Alator’s voice changed then and he spoke strange words in an ancient tongue and his eyes went gold.

“Put out the fire and get your horse.” Alator commanded. “We’ve spent enough time here.” It would take Stoat and the others a while to decide to pursue him and then longer to organize the pursuit but there was no sense narrowing his margin for escape any more than necessary.

Alator had half turned away to check on Emrys when he realized Arthur hadn’t moved. The King stood very still with his arm thrown up as though to ward off a blow. Frowning Alator looked closer. “Put out the fire.” He commanded again.

“I don’t think so.” Arthur said in a strange, wary voice as he slowly lowered his arm.

Suddenly angry and afraid, Alator repeated his spell. Again he felt his magic come to him and leave in the shape he had molded for it.

“It doesn’t seem to be working.” Arthur said, slightly breathless as though he wasn’t sure he dared believe it. As one, Alator and Arthur turned to Merlin who was gazing back at them with very wide, very blue eyes.

Like a whip crack, Alator cast another spell- a different one this time but it had no effect. “But he doesn’t have his magic.” Alator muttered to himself, again looking at Merlin. He knew the sorcerer’s magic was still contained. He would have known immediately if he had broken free. Franticly, Alator threw another spell at Arthur and again nothing happened.

Around Merlin translucent ribbons of silver and gold were beginning to form from the earth, from rocks and trees and the fire. They wound around him and floated through the air. The ribbons were growing and stretching. They moved toward Arthur and Alator. Alator cringed back, speaking spell after spell.

Alator’s increasing panic brought Arthur back to a sense of himself and he moved forward with a show of confidence. He raised his sword and did his best to ignore the silver and gold swirling around him in elegant pirouettes.

“I don’t understand. This shouldn’t be happening.” Alator repeated. Arthur felt a moment of grim sympathy for the man. He didn’t understand either.

The ribbons surrounded Alator. They moved in ever tightening circles around the man. As Arthur watched, bloody lines began to appear on Alator’s body. The Catha screamed. The gold and silver lights were cutting him, making shallow slices into his skin and then squeezing around him like the coils of a snake.

The ribbons were swirling around Arthur as well but they did not cut or crush him. They skimmed lightly over him, caressing him fondly as a mother might. At first, Arthur had to struggle not to flinch from the dancing light but the soft touches communicated only love and friendship. Arthur could not think about how the ribbons made him feel or it would overwhelm, him, so strong was the sense that there was someone or something he dearly loved so near to him and yet also beyond his reach. 

Whatever gentleness touched Arthur, Alator seemed to be experiencing the reverse. Arthur caught his breath, horrified, as Alator’s body bulged around the constricting bands. Steeling himself, Arthur moved forward and raised Excalibur. Alator was making terrible gurgling sounds as blood was forced from the shallow cuts by the pressure of the bands. Arthur slid his sword between Alator’s ribs and the magic ribbons released the lifeless body.

In the moment of Alator’s death Merlin screamed.

Without further thought for Alator Arthur rushed to where Merlin had lain helpless throughout the confrontation. Arthur gathered Merlin up- drawing him in and pulling him against his chest. Then he wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“It’s my . . . my magic. It’s . . . it’s all coming back.” Merlin tried to explain as his body bucked and pitched in Arthur’s arms. Blue ribbons sprang into existence alongside the gold and the silver. As the three colors spun and wove together around the King and the Sorcerer, Merlin seemed to calm down.

Arthur continued to hold Merlin though. It seemed terribly important to hold onto Merlin as though Merlin might transform into ribbons himself and drift away if Arthur didn’t hold him. “I wasn’t going to let him take you away.” Arthur couldn’t stop himself from murmuring into Merlin’s hair. He kissed the top of Merlin’s head and tightened his grip, needing to be closer but not knowing how.

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you.” Merlin mumbled in response, clutching Arthur’s arms as they wrapped around his chest.  
*  
If Merlin could have gone back in time the moment he saw Arthur approaching from out of the mist and stopped himself from revealing his magic he would have done it. If Arthur didn’t know about Merlin’s magic then Arthur didn’t know about half the danger Merlin found himself in and if Arthur didn’t know about Merlin’s danger then Arthur couldn’t put himself in danger trying to rescue him. 

As happened in these moments, everything but Arthur’s life and safety shrank to irrelevance. A lifetime of dishonesty was not too high a price to pay to avoid these situations and if Arthur didn’t like it-if Merlin’s secrets weakened Arthur and marred their friendship, well, that was just too damn bad. Merlin would figure out a way to deal with that later. Arthur had to live. Arthur had to be kept safe. Any sacrifice of life or of morality was worth it. Really, Merlin told himself, he just didn’t ever think things through. 

To Merlin’s present regret protecting Arthur via time travel was not an option Merlin had available. Merlin wasn’t sure that he had any options available at all. His magic would not come. Merlin promised, threatened and pleaded. Merlin swore oaths of soul-destroying vengeance if his magic did not return to him but nothing happened.

Merlin could not answer when Arthur called to him. His body would not respond to his commands any more than his magic would. But, Merlin kept trying. As Messenger and Arthur fought Merlin reached again and again for something, some strand of power, the least spark of magic. There was nothing.

Merlin listened as Arthur and Alator argued. He silently urged them to keep talking because while they talked Merlin still had time. 

Merlin almost lost it before he realized he had it. It was almost gone before Merlin had the sense to clutch at it. It was magic. It was not Merlin’s magic and it was no more than a thread but it was magic. Merlin pulled gently at the thread. He felt clumsy as though his hands were wrapped in cloth but he coaxed the cord of foreign magic to him. Still without access to his own magic but with senses attune to magic Merlin could see that his little string led to a deep reservoir of power. He felt its wild strength and he knew that he would not be able to control it. This power was not like his own. If he called this magic forth it would work its own will. It terrified Merlin. He felt as he had just before releasing kilgharrah but just as in that instance he saw no other choice. He pulled with everything in him.

He pulled and the magic did not come. Merlin would have howled if the combination of Alator’s spell and his own illness had not left him incapable of it. He didn’t know what else to do. Alator was speaking. He was saying something about Merlin’s mistakes- he was telling Arthur that the King depended on Merlin’s magic. He did, but what did that prove? Arthur also depended on Gwen’s wisdom and kindness. He depended on Leon’s sword and steadfast loyalty. He depended on Kay and Bedivere and the knights and the nobles and the merchants and the scholars and the whole of the peasantry. Arthur depended on them all and they all gave their talents and their loyalty of their own will. Alator couldn’t understand, Merlin though bitterly. Alator had to trick people and if he couldn’t trick them then he used magic to force them.

Thinking of Alator’s tricks suddenly brought Daisy to Merlin’s mind. She had tested him to convince herself of his powers as Emrys. He had done everything she had asked of him, although he had not had any real understanding of the purpose of the tasks. He remembered the last task and how difficult it had been. There had been a silk cord that had to be knotted a certain way. Why had it been so difficult? What had been the point? Following a sudden intuition, Merlin tried desperately to remember the shape of the knot Daisy had made him make. He conjured the picture in his mind’s eye. Without magic it was a matter of imagination rather than reality but Merlin took the thread and twisted it into the shapes he remembered.

The strange magic struck him like a tidal wave. It was terrible and awe-inspiring and there seemed no end to it. It was vital and alive. The presence was immediate and aware. It had mind and volition- though of an and utterly distinctive type. It was not like Merlin’s magic and yet there was something familiar about it, something that seemed to complement the shape and flow of his own magic. 

‘Why have you woken me?’ A voice addressed Merlin- a woman’s voice or perhaps a chorus of women’s voices. The voice had called him by name- but in future Merlin would never be able to remember if it had called him ‘Merlin’ or ‘Emrys’. Perhaps the magic had called him both at once. He did not think that such a thing would be beyond the strange magic because the presence was summer and winter; fire and air and earth and water in turn and together.

‘Why have you woken me?’ 

“Arthur . . . Arthur.” Merlin answered the only way he could.

The presence, which had begun to press in on Merlin, suddenly receded. Or no, it did not recede. It expanded. Merlin only felt relief because his mind was no longer bearing the entire focus of all that magic. The presence took in Merlin’s surrounding. It became aware of the fire and the dead man and the trees and horses. It took in the rocks and twigs and blades of grass. It saw the lichen and the moss and hundreds of busy little insects. It saw Alator and it saw Arthur.

The presence was there before Alator’s spell had fully formed, and as the carefully crafted words left his lips, the magic he had worked into them fell away. It fell into the presence and became part of it. Each time Alator took magic and tried to shape it, the magic fell away and joined the presence. Merlin watched fascinated and frightened as each of Alator’s spells died. The presence was truly roused now. It manifested itself as bands of light and it had apparently reached the point where even someone as insensitive to magic as Arthur could finally perceive it.

Merlin felt a strange delight at Arthur’s dubious acceptance of the strange phenomenon. The magic touched Arthur and Merlin saw his expression change into something indescribable. He had looked to Merlin as if for some sort of explanation but Merlin could not respond. Merlin was as trapped as ever.

It was not until Alator’s death that the barrier separating Merlin from his magic came down. The sudden onslaught of his returning power overwhelmed Merlin. It hurt as he seemed to have gone from dying of dehydration to drowning in the space of a stilled heartbeat.

Then Arthur was there and somehow it was better. Merlin tried to breathe slowly. He felt like . . . He didn’t know what he felt like except that he thought he might fly apart if Arthur didn’t hold him together.

“I wasn’t going to let him take you away.”

Merlin heard the muffled words with a deep feeling of satiation. He answered that he hadn’t been about to let Alator hurt Arthur and Merlin felt this to be true even as he was not entirely certain what he had done. Already, there was also a small part of Merlin’s mind that had begun to wonder if he hadn’t better start thinking of a way to undo whatever he had done. With his own magic restored Merlin had a better sense of just how powerful the magic he had managed to release was.

How could he say: ‘Thank you very much but would you mind terribly going away now? And if you could not cause some sort of mass destruction of life and property as you leave I’d certainly appreciate it.’ The question never became urgent though as the strange magic seemed content as it was. Merlin noticed that his own magic- which felt like it had grown somehow while he had been kept from it- had manifested itself in bands of blue and was now dancing with the gold and silver.

“Are you all right?” Arthur asked. The King had relaxed a little but he still held Merlin in what Merlin suspected might be some sort of wrestling hold- Merlin didn’t mind.

“I’ve been better.” Merlin replied. “But I’ve been worse, too.”

Arthur nodded and with an absent flick of his fingers he chased away one of the silver streamers that had strayed too close to Merlin’s face for his liking. The magic did not appear to take offense. “The fog is lifting.”

“Is it?” Merlin wasn’t particularly concerned about fog. He was getting sleepy. He thought he was still probably sick but he was beyond feeling it. He just wanted to rest while he watched the strange magic cavorting. Merlin felt the magic was happy somehow and he was safe with Arthur’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

A strand of his magic had somehow entwined itself with a strand of the gold and the silver into something like a braid. Merlin considered this might be too forward but he could hardly object. The strange magic was slowly dissipating and they had not had a single fireball or bolt of lightning or any other distinct variety of hell rained down on them. Merlin supposed that was worth a bit more fraternizing than he would generally be comfortable with upon a first acquaintance. Even beyond that Merlin was drifting so comfortably that he didn’t really want to object.

Then, without warning the braided spear of magic shot through Merlin and then through Arthur whose chest was still pressed to Merlin’s back.

“Whoa!” Merlin hadn’t even had time to panic between the moment he realized that there was a strange projectile headed toward him and the moment in which it had passed harmlessly through him.

“What?” Arthur demanded adjusting his grip on Merlin somewhat so that he could maneuver to see the sorcerer’s face.

“Didn’t you feel that?” For the brief moment the magic bolt had pierced him, Merlin had seen everything- everything as though from the back of a dragon. But everything had been in such incredible detail. The image was fading quickly but for a second he thought he could see anything anywhere in the world. 

He had seen the hard winter land of the Saxons as the bolt left him and sped on through Arthur. Merlin had been aware of the lingering Saxon magic. It had held tenaciously to Arthur and blackened the wound caused by the Saxon fire. The magic diminished with time but it was harsh and driven by hunger and the howls of cruel conflict with nature. Merlin had not yet conceived a way to completely eliminate the foreign magic but, as the new magic touched Arthur, the Saxon magic was gathered up and absorbed by the silver, blue and gold. After that it was gone- the Saxon darkness and the strange but friendly magic.

“Feel what? Do you need to lie down, Merlin?” Arthur had not felt it.

“The magic . . .?” How had Arthur not felt it?

“The magic has been gone for a while now.” Arthur said as though he were telling Merlin that the monsters under the bed had been dealt with and he needn’t worry about them anymore. “The fog’s gone so it’s only a matter of time before the knights get here but in the meantime I suppose I could . . . build the fire or something.”

Merlin did not especially want Arthur to let him go but he couldn’t think of any plausible reason to stop him. Arthur lowered Merlin gently to the ground, trying to arrange him comfortably. When he was done Arthur paused a moment and looked down into Merlin’s face. It was too much and Merlin closed his eyes. He squeezed them tightly shut because Arthur would get up in a moment and Merlin couldn’t watch it. 

“Gawain?” Merlin asked as he heard but did not see Arthur stand and move nearer the fire.

“He’s fine- a few bumps and bruises. Nothing that won’t mend.” Arthur picked up a stick and poked encouragingly at the sullen fire.

Merlin nodded. He was eager to find out what had happened- with Gawain, with Arthur but his curiosity was quickly being overcome by drowsiness.

The next thing Merlin knew was that there were a lot more people in his immediate vicinity than there had been when he had gone to sleep. Most of them seemed to be talking loudly. Merlin opened his eyes. Knights. He’d know those boots and cloak hems anywhere.

“Hey.” Gawain was leaning over him- smiling with his blackened eye and swollen face.

“Hi.” Merlin returned, groggy.

“You don’t look so good, mate.” Gawain observed.

“You’re one to talk.” Merlin scoffed. Gawain’s hand found Merlin’s and held it as Gawain laughed softly.

“Are we ready?” Arthur asked the question but he didn’t wait for an answer before scooping Merlin up off the ground. Merlin groaned.

“We’ll get you to a place you can rest in just a bit. Are you going to be all right?”

Merlin muttered an affirmative. He felt awful but a bit more manhandling wasn’t going to kill him. He let his head loll forward against Arthur’s shoulder. He managed to fall asleep again as they rode.

It was grey dawn when the group came to a halt at a quickly constructed camp a little distance from the Druids. Merlin woke as he was eased off Hengroen and into Percival’s arms. After Arthur dismounted Merlin was handed back to him and then carried into a tent. The thought crossed Merlin’s mind that he ought to object- for form’s sake if nothing else. He could- maybe could, well, perhaps with some support he might stand on his own for a moment or two. But then Merlin wasn’t a knight and one of the good things about not being a knight- not that Merlin had a list or anything, but probably somewhere between not having to participate in tournaments and not having to bother about a coat of arms- was that he was not required to spend the last of his strength pretending that he was not at the last of his strength. He was asleep again before Arthur set him down.  
*  
The first thing Merlin became aware of as he eased into consciousness was the sound of familiar voices. The safety promised by these voices let Merlin take his time as the memory of recent events clambered up from the deepness of sleep, dusted itself off and made a space for itself in Merlin’s awareness.

Merlin’s eyes drifted open and confirmed what his ears had reported. Gawain was nearby with Elyan. They were playing cards and Gareth was with them too. Merlin’s brow furrowed slightly when he saw Gareth. Merlin consulted his still drowsy memory. Was Gareth supposed to be here? Unfortunately, Merlin’s memory was not able to supply him with that answer. There were a lot of questions- Merlin was beginning to realize- that his memory couldn’t answer.

Off a little distance but still nearby, Arthur sat diligently doing the stretching exercises Gaius had shown him for his slowly healing hand. Merlin watched him. Arthur was so intent upon his task that he was unaware of Merlin’s notice. For a while, curiosity was not a sufficient motivator to rouse Merlin further. Alator was dead. Arthur was safe. Gareth was here? Something about Iseldir . . . There was nothing urgent and Merlin let his mind drift- content not to think about anything.

“Look who’s decided to join us.” Gawain suddenly crowed breaking in on something Elyan had been telling him.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked as Gawain and Elyan clustered nearer to Merlin. Arthur and Gareth both stayed where they were but they were smiling.

“Better than I have any right to.” Merlin answered, figuring it was true. The emptiness was gone. He had his magic. He didn’t feel particularly sick. Altogether, he felt he had gotten off rather well.

The moment Merlin tried to sit up to drink the water Elyan had brought him, he revised his thought. He felt so weak. His muscles barely held him upright. Gawain snorted even as he surged forward to keep Merlin from falling over.

“There, now.” Gawain said helping to settle Merlin upright. “Apparently you’re going to be weak as a kitten for the next little while so take it easy.”

“What’s been happening? What time is it? What are the Druids doing?” Merlin finally asked after he had some water and Gareth had excused himself to let the others know that Merlin had woken up. Was Gareth acting a little nervous?

Elyan began the tale and though he had not been present for many of the relevant events Gawain stopped him often to fill in details that he had gleaned from earlier tellings. 

While Elyan was describing the conditions of the Druids after they had been released from Alator’s cages, Percival came into the tent with a broad smile and a tray with bread and soup. The interruption gave Merlin the chance to ask how long he had been asleep. His earlier lassitude had left him and he was starting to feel anxious about what he didn’t know.

Merlin was assured that he had only been asleep for most of the day and this alleviated a little of his concern. Whatever had happened with the silver and gold magic had appeared to settle things with Alator but Merlin had not forgotten there was more going on than a confrontation with a deranged sorcerer, there was still the problem of the Mór Cruinniú.

Merlin tried to ask more questions about what was happening- very specifically he wanted to know what had happened with Mordred and Daisy. He was overruled, though, as Elyan told him that the story had to be told in the right way and to just eat his soup and listen. Merlin ate his soup and listened.

“Then, when the fog finally cleared, we followed west as soon as we could but Alator was dead and there was nothing left to do but find a place for you to recover.” Elyan finished some time later. He looked at Merlin expectantly as though he thought he might applaud- either the events of the story or the telling of it, Merlin could not have said.

“Well,” Merlin said shaking his head, “that was . . ..” Merlin could find no proper adjective but no one appeared to expect one as there was a chorus of solemn nods.

“But what’s happened since? Alator had allies. Daisy, she was part of it- I don’t know how exactly but she’s not our friend and then there’s Mordred.”

“The Druids are sorting that out.” Arthur had not spoken often during the long recital of events but he had kept looking at Merlin with an expression Merlin told himself firmly not to over-think. “They’ve basically decided to start the whole thing again and I don’t think we’ll need to worry about the outcome this time.”

“Yeah, it looks like everything has turned out all right.” Elyan said as though that had always been the only possible outcome. “I mean- as long as you’re all right, Merlin. You are all right, aren’t you, Merlin. I mean you will be? The Druids seemed sure you would be.”

“Then I expect I will.” Merlin felt all right now, it was only whenever he tried to do anything and found he didn’t have the strength for it that Merlin grew worried. On the other hand, if the Druids were confident in his recovery he had no reason to doubt their expertise.

“What about my sword?” Gawain complained. “That hasn’t turned out all right.”

“I’ll help you choose a new one.” Elyan soothed. “Your old one couldn’t hold an edge anymore anyway.”

“What happened to your sword?” Merlin asked, diverted in spite of himself.

“Someone stole it.” Gawain exclaimed full of wounded dignity.

“You don’t know that.” Percival said in a tone that suggested he had said it before. “It could have gotten lost.”

“Lost? I have my sword. A bunch of Dru- Catha come up and knock me on the head. When I come round, it’s not with the rest of my things and no one knows anything about it. It was stolen. I know I can’t make a big deal out of it because we’re trying to be nice but that doesn’t change- Merlin, are you all right?”

“Where are my things?” Merlin had gone pale and his eyes flicked around the tent searching.

Puzzled, Percival reached over to grab Merlin’s pack, which lay nearby though it was partially concealed by a blanket. Franticly, Merlin upended the pack so that the contents would spill out. Or at least he tried to upend the pack. In his current state he could not lift it. Percival, frowning now, did it for him.”

“Have you lost something, too?” Gawain asked sympathetically.

“They’re not here.” Merlin continued to paw through his things as though his missing items might appear if he just checked one more time.

“What?” Arthur asked, suddenly concerned.

“The knife and the Medallion- from the Saxon sorcerers.” Merlin answered looking up at Arthur with an expression of complete abjection. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I brought them with me. I thought they’d be safer.”

“We should try and let Merlin get a little more rest.” Arthur told the knights which they correctly interpreted as instructions to get out. They obeyed.

“I thought they’d be safer but now someone has them.” Merlin repeated, once he and Arthur were left alone in the tent and Arthur had come over and started to put all of Merlin’s spilled belongings back into his pack. Merlin tried to take over the task but Arthur batted him away.

“There are going to be a lot of dangerous magical objects in the world.” Arthur said putting the pack aside and sitting down beside Merlin. “Finding them, figuring out what they do and then deciding what to do with them is going to be an endless task. We’ll do our best but we certainly can’t expect to keep track of everything that has the potential to be used for evil. It’s nothing to get overly worked up about.”

Arthur sounded so calm and reasonable that Merlin could do nothing but lie down quietly and try to blink away tears. The only thing that kept this from being a total disaster was that Merlin now felt certain that whatever connection the Saxon artifacts had had to Arthur was completely gone. He had seen the dark magic vanquished. He had felt it when that strange bolt of magic had passed through both of them.

“You did incredible things last night.” Arthur went on, purposefully not watching Merlin cry. “I know- I don’t know- but I think it must have been very bad these last few days.” Arthur had thought about what it would mean and what it would feel like to be denied a part of himself, to be separated from something essential to his being and the thought itself was enough to have him almost frantic. 

“I know it’s been bad. I know-. Despite that you were still able to do . . .” Arthur waved his hand to mean magic. “Whatever you did. You saved my life- more than that.” Arthur fought back the echo of fear he felt when he considered what Alator had intended for him. “I’m proud of you, Merlin, and I’m so very glad you’re safe.”

Merlin was crying in earnest now. He was quiet though and he kept quiet because he knew if he tried to speak he would start sobbing. Then, once the sobbing started Merlin would say things he didn’t want to; things he didn’t mean- or at least he wouldn’t mean them once he had a little time to rest and recover- and he would say things he did mean. Merlin would say how disappointed he was in himself for losing the Saxon artifacts. He would tell Arthur that he had no idea what he had done last night. There had been magic, yes, but it had not been Merlin’s magic. For all Merlin’s power there was so much about magic that was an utter mystery to him. Merlin would say that Arthur mustn’t ever walk into a situation like that again. Merlin never wanted to lie to Arthur, he never wanted to have something like that between them again but Merlin was afraid he would tell any lie he needed to to keep Arthur from risking himself for his sake. 

Merlin would say that he had felt so empty and he had been so scared without his magic. He would say that before, when Arthur hadn’t known about his magic, Merlin had felt so certain that he had deserved Arthur’s trust. He had felt he deserved Arthur’s praise and affection too and the fact that he had to get by with much less of that than he wanted was just another sacrifice he endured willingly and was thus more proof of how much he deserved. But now that Arthur knew the truth and was giving him trust and praise and affection Merlin wasn’t sure he deserved it at all. 

If Merlin let himself talk he would tell Arthur how very much he loved him; how full his heart was. He would speak aloud his promise that there was nothing he would not do for Arthur; nothing he would not give him. He would say that if Arthur could just feel a little of what Merlin felt for him then Merlin would be so happy. And there were yet more words waiting to tumble out but Merlin held them all back.

Arthur sat beside him and patted his back and stroked his hair. Arthur let him cry and did not try to make him talk. Merlin was grateful. He didn’t want Arthur to hear his stress addled ramblings. Some of it he didn’t really mean, some of it was still secret and some of it didn’t even make sense. But Merlin liked to think that Arthur understood why Merlin needed to cry and did not think less of him for it.

Eventually it was over. Merlin dragged his sleeve across his face and swallowed wetly then turned over so he was lying on his back. He looked up at Arthur and gave him a watery smile.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

Nodding Arthur got up to have a drink of water and then handed the canteen to Merlin who drank thirstily. After he had drunk Merlin wiped his sleeve across his face one more time. He did feel better but he also felt bone weary. He wanted to sleep a long time and when he woke he wanted his physical strength back.

Sleep was close, so close Merlin would have to do little more than close his eyes to find it but though there were things he could not say to Arthur there was one thing he had to say: “Stay with me.”

“This is my tent, Merlin. Where do you imagine I’m going to go?” 

“I mean,” Merlin flushed a little, “don’t go back to the Druid camp without me. Mordred is there and . . . ” And Merlin didn’t want Arthur anywhere near Mordred. Frankly there were a number of Druids Merlin didn’t want Arthur anywhere near. His trust in the Druids as a group had been shaken and while he was confident that in time that trust could be rebuilt he wasn’t going to start with Mordred.

“I don’t think that’s anything to worry about.” Arthur said and that was mostly Merlin’s point.

“Please.” 

For a moment Merlin was sure Arthur would dig in his heels. Arthur hated it when people tried to tell him something was too dangerous for him. But, Arthur was quieter longer than it generally took him to say ‘no’.

“All right.” Arthur said softly, but then went on immediately. “Not because I think there’s any truth to the idea that he’s destined to kill me.”

“Fine.” Merlin agreed, but he was impelled against his better judgment to ask, “So, why then?”

“Because it’s important to you.”

A little later Merlin closed his eyes and went to sleep smiling.  
*  
When Merlin woke the next morning he found that, despite his wish, his physical strength had not been restored. It was frustrating but as Arthur and the knights told him repeatedly he should consider himself lucky. Merlin did consider himself lucky but he continued to grumble as he found doing even little things for himself difficult. 

Merlin spent the bulk of the next two days napping. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much sleep. Merlin thought that by the end of the first day he would have slept himself out and yet he still tired quickly. The knights took turns sitting with him. This wasn’t at all necessary but Merlin was touched by their concern. Even Leon, who had been very formal with Merlin since he had learned of his secret, had taken some time with him. They didn’t chat exactly but almost on his way out Leon had turned to him and said. “I’m glad you’re safe and back with us, Merlin.”

The thaw in his relationship with Leon pleased Merlin very much. The two had never spoken directly about the things Merlin had done as Camelot’s secret sorcerer and they probably never would. Leon knew a lot, though. From the moment Merlin’s magic was revealed the knight had started putting the pieces together. Leon could not have guessed everything, of course. Leon did not suspect that Merlin had released the dragon for one and there were other more private things the knight could have no way of guessing- some of these private things militated in Merlin’s favor while others . . .. Yet, for all that it was missing key elements the picture of Merlin that Leon had eventually come up with had left the knight wary and ill at ease.

It was not just that Merlin valued Leon’s respect and friendship and it hurt to lose them-though there was certainly that. It was that Leon was Arthur’s man; Camelot’s man and that gave Leon’s judgment a sharper sting. Leon’s reaction to Merlin was Arthur’s reaction minus the love, and friendship and profound sense of personal betrayal. Now that Leon was warming to Merlin, it gave Merlin hope that Camelot generally might start to consider him more than a necessary evil. 

Over the course of Merlin’s quiet nap-filled days he was introduced to Edith and Edwin. Apparently the two Druids had remained with the Camelot camp. There had been a feeling among some of those at the Mór Cruinniú that their participation in the fight between the knights and the Catha had unforgivably offended custom. If Edith and Edwin had gone back to the Druids there might have been unpleasantness.

The unfairness and foolishness of this struck Merlin hard. Arthur had tried to explain that those Druids who were claiming to be offended were most likely just doing so to try and undermine Julia and Iseldir. Merlin didn’t see how that made it any better. 

It did not appear to be any hardship to Edith and Edwin though. The pair had been through a great deal since they had watched as their mentor was killed on their way to the Druid gathering. Their experiences had left them both feeling in need of a fresh start and though they had had a very short acquaintance they seemed to have developed a sense of attachment to the knights. Arthur had asked them if they would wish to come to Camelot and they had readily agreed.

Merlin liked Edith and Edwin well enough. He might have wished Arthur would be a little less pleased to have them but Merlin could find no objection to either Druid. Yet, it did trouble him that Edith and Edwin seemed so nervous of him. When Gawain had brought them in to see Merlin they had actually bowed. Merlin had done his best to put them at ease. He had tried to make it clear that they should think of him as cheerful and harmless Merlin not the dread and powerful Emrys. They acted like they understood but they never really relaxed in his company. That would get better in time Merlin hoped. 

It was evening on the third day of Merlin’s recovery. Merlin sat on a blanket just outside the tent he shared with Arthur. Gawain was beside him leaning back on his elbows and watching the sun set as he chatted amiably about Edith and the probability that she was or was not romantically attached to Edwin and if she was then how strong was that attachment.

Merlin only half listened to Gawain. He was replacing a strip of leather that had begun to fray from his horse’s tack. The leather had not frayed that much but Merlin had come to the point in his recovery where he missed having things to do. An inspection of his progress was bringing Merlin to the idea that he needed to leave the work alone or he was in danger of doing more harm than good when Gareth came jogging up.

“Merlin,” Gareth broke into Gawain’s musings. “Do you want to talk to Iseldir?”

“What?” Merlin put aside the tack. He hoped it had ended up in a better condition than it started but he thought regretfully it was probably just as well if he tried not to put too much strain on it.

“Iseldir and Auntie are coming up to talk to Arthur and Iseldir wants to know if you would be willing to speak with him?” Gareth clarified as he caught his breath.

“Oh,” It was the third day of new Mór Cruinniú, Merlin realized. The Druids must have come to some decisions. “Well, I suppose so. What’s the news?” Gareth had been back and forth between the Camelot camp and the Druid gathering a few times to visit Iseldir and he kept the Camelot camp as informed as he could about events.

Gareth shrugged. “Good news mostly. After the winter the Druids will send an embassy to Camelot and we’ll talk.”

“Who did the Druids choose to speak for them this time?” 

“Seasmhach.”

“Not Iseldir or Auntie or Timon?” Merlin had come to think of these three Druids as Camelot’s best allies.

“I think they thought Seasmhach would be the most independent.” Gareth speculated.

Merlin considered that. He wasn’t entirely sure what precisely Seasmhach had wanted at the first meeting but he had defied Alator and opposed Mordred so how bad could he be? Still, Merlin would have been happier with Iseldir.

Gareth must have been only just ahead of Auntie and Iseldir because as Merlin sat contemplating, the two Druids appeared in the distance. Gawain saw them at the same time and tossed a pebble at Gareth to get his attention. The pebble pinged against Gareth’s shoulder plate.

“Don’t you think you had better find Arthur?” Gawain asked as the younger knight turned toward him with mild indignation.

“Oh, right.” Gareth looked sheepish for a moment before jogging off to where Arthur was sparring with Percival a little distance away. 

It had been years since Merlin had last seen Iseldir but the man now approaching looked like he had aged twice that time. Iseldir moved like an old man. His skin was papery and stretched tight over his features. It was a shock to Merlin and he quickly turned his attention to Iseldir’s companion. 

For reasons that were not entirely clear to Merlin, Arthur called the woman beside Iseldir Julia and everyone else called her Auntie Stoat. Auntie, Merlin had decided to go with the majority on the question of what to call the woman, looked old as well. Against his will an image appeared in Merlin’s mind of Auntie in one of the iron cages that the knights had described. He shivered. 

It was still so strange to Merlin. He had had no illusions about Alator. He had seen what the man was capable of and yet Merlin had managed to convince himself that somehow Alator could be part of the solution. Merlin had never entirely trusted Alator but he had let himself believe that Alator could be put to a useful purpose- that he could put Alator to a useful purpose. Merlin had wanted Alator to be redeemed so much that he had overlooked a lot of things that should have left him wary. It was strange because Merlin considered that if Alator had tried to deceive Arthur the way he had Merlin, Merlin wouldn’t have trusted him for a second.

Arthur arrived with the other knights before Iseldir and Auntie. His hair was damp with sweat and he was still a little flushed from his sparring. He looked healthy. He also looked annoyed not to have had better warning of their visitors’ arrival. By the look on Gareth’s face the King had already shared his annoyance with the young knight. 

By the time Auntie and Iseldir joined them, Merlin and Gawain had gotten to their feet and dusted themselves off. Merlin knew that Arthur wasn’t entirely pleased with the picture they made. The King liked to present a certain image and to his mind he and his people looked somewhat bedraggled. Merlin wished Arthur could see them all from his eyes.

“I thought you and I could take a little walk.” Auntie suggested to Arthur once the preliminary greetings were over. 

“We could sit if you’d rather.” Arthur offered clearly feeling Auntie wasn’t up for much of a walk.

“I promise I’m not about to fall over.” Auntie assured smiling wryly. Some of the age and fragility had fallen away from her as she spoke and Merlin felt inexplicably relieved to see it.

“All right.” Arthur smiled. “But do let me know if you can’t keep up.”

“Fair enough.” Auntie took Arthur’s offered arm and Merlin noticed that her pace was faster than it had been.

Leon and Gareth followed Arthur and Auntie at a discreet distance while the other knights seemed to simply melt away leaving Merlin with Iseldir.

“Do you object to sitting?” Merlin asked with a smile he hoped Iseldir would return.

“Not at all.” Iseldir did smile back. Merlin spread out the blanket that he had hastily put away when he had seen Arthur charging toward him with his ‘I’m upset everything isn’t orderly and befitting the highest possible standards of Camelot’ expression. Merlin had grown to recognize that expression very quickly over the years. When the two had settled themselves, Merlin took the opportunity to give Iseldir another appraising look. Like Auntie some of the weariness had left his expression and Merlin could better recognize the man he had been.

“I’m glad you’re . . .” Merlin started but wasn’t sure how to go on ‘not dead’ seemed awkward but ‘well’ didn’t seem terribly accurate. Merlin settled on “recovering.”

Iseldir inclined his head. “As I am glad you are recovering.”

Silence. It suddenly struck Merlin that he didn’t really know Iseldir. Yes, their paths had crossed at pivotal moments. Yes, of all the Druids Merlin was aware of Iseldir had always been reliable and yes, evidence and Merlin’s intuition combined to show that Iseldir was about as good a friend to Camelot as anyone could hope. But they’d never really had a chat.

“Why did you want to talk to me?” This question was more blunt than Merlin really wanted but it was either that or comment on the weather.

“I thought you might have some questions that I could answer.”

Merlin could not entirely hold back his sudden excitement. How often in his life did he get an offer like that? Questions jostled and shoved each other in their hurry to reach the front of his brain. Finally he asked, “What did Alator do? I mean, what spell did he use to- to keep me from my magic?”

Iseldir nodded, completely unsurprised that this was the most urgent issue on Merlin’s mind. “It was a shielding spell. It is not a difficult spell to cast but Alator needed the whole power of the Mór Cruinniú to make it effective- even then he needed to have you distracted first.”

“Why did the Mór Cruinniú- Why did so many Druids let him do it? Why did they help him?” Merlin could not keep the hurt out of his voice. It wasn’t that he thought the Druids owed him something. But with all the talk of Emrys he felt he’d been led along a little bit. They were the ones always on about prophecy. If they believed Merlin was Emrys and Emrys was meant to help the Once and Future King to bring peace and magic to a unified Albion then why had they let Alator do that to him?

“Emrys is a figure from legend.” Iseldir began patiently. He saw the warlock’s hurt and anger and he wished to assuage it as much as he could. “We feel we know everything about you while at the same time many of us know nothing about you. There will always be people who fear you, Emrys. Others probably wanted to test you. They weren’t sure Alator could do what he boasted and they wanted to see what would happen when he tried. Still others agreed with Alator. They thought you had strayed from your purpose and needed to be brought back into line. The rest were simply overruled.”

“Don’t forget, Alator also cheated.” Iseldir finished when Merlin’s expression remained unyielding.

“Alator told me that he had used a spell that was simple to escape, that even Druid children knew how to do it.”

“The escape is simple but not easy and it is hardly universal knowledge among us.” Iseldir answered happy to be off the topic of the messy workings of Druid politics.

“How?” Merlin needed to know. It would never happen again. Merlin wouldn’t let it happen again but he needed to know.

“Ah, let me show you.” Iseldir spoke with the enthusiasm of a teacher. He leaned forward and began to chant. The words of the Old Tongue broke off abruptly and Iseldir seemed to collapse on his side as he clutched his throat.

“Sorry!” The gold lit Merlin’s eyes so fast that he didn’t have time to process what was happening. As soon as he did though, he released his magic grip on Iseldir and rushed to the old man’s side. “Sorry.”

Iseldir lay at what was certainly an uncomfortable angle and breathed heavily. After several long moments his breathing steadied and with Merlin’s help he was able to bring himself mostly upright.

“Sorry.” Merlin repeated, shame-facedly. His magic had leapt from him of its own accord. That happened sometimes but never as an unprovoked attack.

“I mean you no harm, Emrys. I swear it.” Iseldir’s voice shook a little and he kept his hand protectively over his throat. “Even if I did, I would not dare . . .”

“I know. Of course. My-“ Merlin had been about to say, ‘my magic acted by itself’ but he was suddenly afraid that might make Iseldir think he wasn’t in control of his magic. He was in control. It was just that they had been talking about Alator and Iseldir had started spell-casting. It had been a matter of reflex. “I overreacted.”

Iseldir nodded his forgiveness. His own nerves were frayed to breaking otherwise he would have been more careful about how he introduced his spell. “I can make a picture to illustrate the spell’s working if you wish. I would not try to use it on you. I very literally couldn’t.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please, will you show me how the spell worked?” Merlin asked as humbly as he could.

Iseldir smiled his agreement and once more raised his hands. Merlin could not help but notice that the Druid kept a furtive eye on him as he started to speak. Merlin spread his own hands on his knees and tried to look harmless.

A bright blue dot appeared between the two sorcerers. “This is your magic.” Iseldir explained and then he spoke a few more words of the old tongue. A huge translucent sphere appeared around the dot. The blue brilliance was somewhat diminished but still clearly visible. “This is Alator’s spell. Note how large it is. It would need to be that large to have any chance of confining your magic.

Iseldir glanced at Merlin who nodded to show that so far he understood. “Now, this is what happened when you found yourself trapped.” Iseldir incanted and the bright blue dot flew into furious motion. It ricocheted around the sphere, driving itself with violent energy first at one part of the sphere and then another. It reminded Merlin of a fly caught in a glass jar.

“Now watch,” Iseldir instructed. “Right before your magic collides against the shield . ..” Merlin watched. For a while the blue dot’s movements were too fast and frantic but eventually he saw that- just in the fraction of a second before the magic hit the shield- the sphere disappeared and all the shield’s energy reformed just at the point where Merlin’s magic would hit it. 

“All right, so what’s the answer? How does the magic escape?” Merlin demanded. He was strangely eager for the blue dot to be free. It was a picture. It meant nothing but Merlin still didn’t like seeing even the picture of his magic trapped.

In answer to Merlin’s question Iseldir spoke one more spell. The dot’s ballistic motion slowed and it came to rest at the center of the translucent shield. Then, at a slow measured pace the dot began to expand into a sphere of its own. The opaque blue continued to expand but as it did so the intensity of its light diminished. Finally the solid blue pressed up against the encircling shield. The shield melted away and the blue sphere was free.

“Do you understand?” Iseldir asked. Typically he would follow an illustration like that with a more practical demonstration but that obviously wasn’t going to happen here.

“I think so.” Merlin looked at the blue sphere and let his magic spread out gently in all directions. He nodded. It made enough sense that he thought he could translate the process- not that he would ever need to.

“Alator told me that I was only hurting myself by struggling. He was right wasn’t he?” The irony was a little sickening.

“Alator liked to deceive with the truth, but, Emrys, you would have escaped eventually just through brute strength. Even if that wasn’t certain before, after what happened no one can doubt the enormity of your power.”

“I didn’t do anything though. I didn’t escape from Alator’s trap until he was dead. The magic that stopped Alator didn’t come from me.” Merlin’s head shot up. Did the Druids think that he had broken free on his own? Somehow Merlin assumed that the Druids knew about the strange power and understood what it was. Merlin had developed his own theory in the last few days about that night but he was unsure what it would mean if he were right.

“You don’t know what happened?” Iseldir asked genuinely surprised.

“I don’t understand what happened.” Merlin clarified.

Iseldir rested his weight back and leaned his hands on his knees. He had just assumed Emrys understood what had happened even if he hadn’t understood all the implications. “Emrys, you- without the use of magic!- you woke the magic of the land.

“All right?” 

Moving the blanket aside Iseldir pressed his hand to the ground. “There is magic in the land, Emrys. There is great power that at certain times and certain places and under certain conditions can be called upon for a specific purpose.”

Merlin nodded. That seemed reasonable enough.

“It is difficult enough to call on the magic of the land but you did not simply rouse a tree spirit of wind sprite. You- Albion woke! All of it at once- at least as far as any of us have been able to tell. You did it without access to your own magic. It should have been impossible- it must have something to do with your essential magical nature but . . .” Iseldir shook his head. Druids would be theorizing about how Emrys had done what he had done for a long time to come. 

“Yes, all right. I can see that but once the magic was there I didn’t have any control over it.” Merlin was more impressed by how impressed Iseldir seemed to be than by what Iseldir described.

“You can’t control the magic of the land.” Iseldir said and for the first time Merlin could detect that the old man was getting a bit frustrated by his ignorance. “A sorcerer might call up a limited amount of the land’s power and be able to direct it toward a limited purpose but no one controls it. No one.”

“But it helped us- me and Arthur. Well, it helped Arthur. If it was just raw magic then wouldn’t it have run amok or something?” In Merlin’s experience pure, uncontrolled magic was chaos.

“The magic of the land,” Iseldir patted the ground again, “helped Arthur.”

“Of course it did.” Realization struck Merlin suddenly like a wet slap to the face. “Of course it would, the Once and Future King.”

Iseldir let out a breath as though he had finally come to the end of a long and unnecessarily circuitous path.

“Do you know, I thought- Well, I didn’t really think but one thing that seemed like it might be a possibility,” Merlin was still caught in the obviousness of Iseldir’s statement, “that the magic- that Arthur had done it.”

“Arthur doesn’t have magic, Emrys. He can’t have.”

“Yeah, I know.” Merlin did know that. Arthur’s complete lack of magic was something he had grown accustomed to. “It was just the magic felt- I don’t know- familiar. I mean strange but familiar.”

Iseldir did not have any response for that and the two sat in silence for a few moments. When Iseldir did speak again his eyes were lowered and his voice was uncharacteristically coy. “Emrys, do you intend to return to the Mór Cruinniú?”

“I hadn’t thought to.” Merlin had no desire at all to return to the Druid gathering. He did not want to meet Daisy or Mordred. He did not want to know that all the Druids he saw were whispering behind their lips about him. He did not want to see the looks of calculation or of fear. “Is there something I ought to do?”

“If you were to come,” Iseldir was now gazing off into the distance in the direction of the gathering. “There would be many who would be glad of your . . . direction.”

“No.” Merlin didn’t understand exactly what Iseldir was getting at but he didn’t like the sound of it. For all that Merlin had spent nearly a decade keeping secrets he had no stomach for intrigue or plotting. He didn’t like political machinations. He didn’t like elaborate muddy compromises. He didn’t want to be constantly trying to persuade or intimidate or reason with people. The moment before Alator had cast his spell separating Merlin from his magic he had made Merlin think that Alator was about to hand him the leadership of the Druids and he had been terrified.

“There would be advantages.” Iseldir still wouldn’t look at him. “You are Emrys and the power you inarguably hold would discourage dissent. Changes must be made. Seasmhach is a good man but he cannot do what you can.”

“No.” Merlin repeated more forcefully. Merlin already had so much power. He did not understand why other sorcerers thought more could tempt him. “This is no part of my destiny.” Even if the thought of half guiding- half driving fractious and independent groups of Druids into a future the practical making of which he did not fully grasp appealed to him his hands were already full.

“It might be. If the Druids and Camelot could be brought together more quickly it would hasten the acceptance of magic and the reconciliation of past enmities.”

“No, Iseldir. Just no.” Merlin’s destiny was about Arthur, keeping him safe, helping him as he could. The rest would naturally come from that.

“I had to ask.” Iseldir had turned back to Merlin and he was smiling now. 

“Did you really?” Merlin murmured skeptically.

“Can I presume then that you do not plan to seek retribution against the Druids who helped or perhaps did not hinder Alator?”

Merlin blinked. He had no intention of seeking retribution. It surprised him that anyone was worried about it- but then they didn’t really know him. “I don’t plan to go after anyone.” An idea suddenly occurred to Merlin and he smiled to himself. “You can tell everyone that that would be against the Sorcerer’s Code.”

Iseldir nodded gravely though he was not entirely certain what Emrys meant and the two sat in comfortable silence until Arthur and Auntie came back into view.  
*  
There was a wintry smell to the air for the first time that season. Soon the snows would come and winter would properly settle in. Arthur had every intention of returning to Camelot before then but he had decided that, even after Iseldir and Julia’s visit, they would remain for another day. Merlin complained, assuming the delay was for his sake and he didn’t need coddling. Arthur had replied that Merlin’s future held about a zero percent chance of coddling and there was bound to be something in need of sharpening within their camp and he ought to be about the business of finding it. That had seemed to satisfy the sorcerer.

The delay was largely for Merlin’s sake though. The man was getting stronger and he didn’t seem to be in pain but after Arthur’s walk with Julia he wanted to make sure Merlin had plenty of time to mend. Julia had looked ghastly but she had no choice but to push on- Merlin could afford to take some time. And Arthur reasoned the extra rest would be good for all of them. Gawain, Edith and Edwin in particular but everyone had some injury or another that would benefit from rest. 

Even as Arthur thought that though, he was reminded of the fact that he was actually feeling pretty good- better than he had in a while. Injuries that had hurt so long he had forgotten what it was like for them not to hurt were suddenly better. The only explanation Arthur could come up with to explain this was that the magic that Merlin had called to defeat Alator had had some healing effect. It was a little disconcerting but Arthur was overjoyed to be able to spend so much of the time of Merlin’s recovery sparring.

When he wasn’t sparring, Arthur spent time with Edwin and Edith. His mind overflowed with work for them. The first thing he wanted was an inventory of the vaults. There were a lot of magical items that had been stowed down there for safekeeping and then forgotten about- even the non-magical items could do with an accounting. He would set them to work with Geoffrey. The archivist had been too methodical when it came to cataloging the books but the items in the vaults would benefit from his very careful scrutiny. Next he would need them during discussions with the merchants’ guild . . .

Arthur broke off from his rambling plans when he was struck by a thought. Had he grown comfortable with magic? Surely not. Too often he had seen it misused or out of control. Even the magic that had been used for his benefit had had the twin and apparently equally important goal of deceiving him-. 

Arthur checked himself. He meant to be gentler about how he understood the past. He meant to focus on the nobility of Merlin’s intentions, his profound unselfishness and his unstinting loyalty. So, even the magic that had been done for his benefit was too little understood- there that was better. 

There were too many unknowns and perhaps unknowables, what was magic’s nature; what were its limits, was an aptitude for magic genetic, how much of the population had the potential for sorcery, how rare was power on the scale of Merlin, Nimue or Morgause. No, Arthur had not grown comfortable with sorcery. But, he had perhaps grown comfortable with sorcerers. They were, Arthur reasoned, his people too. 

When not conversing with Edwin and Edith or madly training Arthur thought about Merlin. He had kept a close eye on Merlin’s recovery but he had deliberately given him space as well. He told himself that that was to give Merlin and the knights time to reestablish some of their old familiarity but that was mostly an excuse. He and Merlin needed to talk and it was not a talk that Arthur felt entirely prepared for. 

Merlin might not be prepared for it either. While Arthur couldn’t understand what it meant for a creature of magic to be deprived of his magic he had an idea in his head that it was truly terrible. Arthur could conceive of little worse than being separated from an essential part of himself. Merlin would probably be feeling vulnerable and Arthur didn’t want Merlin to have to make decisions in that state.

Merlin’s need to recover was brought home when Merlin had broken down into tears over those horrible Saxon things. Arthur had tried to reassure Merlin. He knew that it was more than the loss of the Saxon talismans that had Merlin upset and he hoped he had said the right things- or at least he hoped he had avoided saying the wrong things. 

Arthur had wanted to hold Merlin while he cried. He remembered having Merlin in his arms after Alator’s death and that had been . . . right. Arthur resisted the temptation though. Arthur knew that, for himself, he always wanted a little space whenever he was hurt- especially physical space. But, even if Merlin didn’t mind it wasn’t the sort of thing Arthur felt like he could explain. He was afraid that if he went about hugging Merlin whenever he felt like it he would eventually have to explain it.

Merlin didn’t get truly upset that often or if he did he kept it from Arthur. With a sudden pang Arthur remembered Merlin’s helpless weeping over Balinor’s body. He had misunderstood what was happening and said very much the wrong thing then. He had thought that Merlin’s reaction had to do with the fact that a virtual stranger had died protecting him. Arthur knew what it felt like when a person sacrificed his life for his sake. The guilt and confusion could be overwhelming. A heavy sense of having an obligation that could never be repaid could crush a man. He had tried to tell Merlin- in an admittedly ham-fisted way- that Balinor had made his own choice and Merlin did not bear the responsibility for it. Arthur could not hold back a small sigh. He had said a cruel thing when his intention had been to do the opposite.

Putting aside memories of long ago, Arthur resolved that, ready or not, it was time to talk to Merlin. The two men needed to discuss the practicalities of the future. It was a subject that had been bubbling through Arthur’s mind almost since the revelation of Merlin’s magic. But, the future had seemed so bleak to Arthur, then. He had delayed making decisions because he wasn’t sure his decisions mattered and even if they did Arthur could not imagine a decision that would make him feel anything but dismal.

That eventually changed. Somehow Arthur had regained enough of a sense of himself to truly face the worst of his hurt, anger and fear and to let Merlin face it with him. After that Arthur had cheerfully postponed any thought of his and Merlin’s future for the joy of having regained his friend and companion. The Mór Cruinniú, however, had brought things into sharp and immediate focus and demonstrated to Arthur that the conversation could be delayed no longer. Alator had been entirely Arthur’s fault. If he was not to repeat his mistakes with Alator and the Druids then Arthur and Merlin would have to settle how they meant to go on.

“I had to wrestle this away from Elyan.” Merlin greeted Arthur- grinning up at him- as the King made his way over to him. When Arthur stopped beside him, Merlin showed him the dagger he had been methodically dragging across a whetstone. “He was under the impression that it was sharp enough as it was but I set him straight.”

“Merlin,” Arthur dispensed with all preliminaries. It would be too easy to let himself get distracted. “If you want to continue to keep it secret that you are Emrys then I don’t object. In fact, I think that is probably the right thing.”

Blinking Merlin put aside the dagger and whetstone. “I thought you thought it wasn’t something that should be kept secret.” Merlin wanted very much to keep Merlin and Emrys separate and Arthur had temporarily gone along with it but Merlin had known it was only a matter of time before they revisited the issue.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.” Arthur said taking a seat next to Merlin so he didn’t have to stare down at the other man.

“Might one ask why?”

“The Druids.” Arthur explained. “They think they know Emrys. Maybe they do know some things about your magic, about prophecies,” Arthur waived his hand to indicate that his mention of prophecies in no way indicated his endorsement of or belief in said prophecies, “but they don’t know you, Merlin. Or at least they didn’t. Alator managed to use the things he knew about you as Merlin to trap Emrys. With everything he knew the fool still managed to underestimate you but I don’t want it happening again.” 

“You’re vulnerable when people know too much about you.” Arthur went on warming to his argument. “There are always going to be people who fear Emrys and Emrys is always going to have his enemies. That’s in addition to the fact that Emrys will be a target for all of Camelot’s enemies. There are always going to be people who want to challenge you, manipulate you or even just study you. If people know that you’re Emrys then they’ll know where you live, where your mother lives, they’ll watch you all the time, they’ll make friends under false pretenses and the more they learn about you, the more they understand the exact nature and extent of your powers the better they will learn to circumvent those powers.”

“If Emrys stays a mystery and Merlin is thought of as mostly harmless then you can be safe.” Arthur concluded, looking to Merlin to see if the sorcerer understood the importance of what Arthur was saying.

“Oh,” Merlin replied and then he nodded with such gravity that Arthur got the impression that the sorcerer was humoring him. “I think that makes a lot of sense. Yes, let’s do keep Emrys’s identity secret if we can.”

Arthur glared at Merlin trying to determine if he was being mocked. It was too difficult to tell so Arthur decided to just go on. “I’d like Emrys to join the Council. You, he needn’t make more than a few appearances if you don’t want- just enough to prove you’re around. Or if you want a more active role we can do that too. And of course you’ll have to appear whenever the odd mad wizard pops up.”

Merlin nodded and tried to keep the smile off his face. He had not been mocking Arthur at all. He had been very touched by Arthur’s reasoning. It wasn’t too far from what Merlin had been thinking himself only, in Merlin’s mind, the focus was on the fact that Merlin was much less conspicuous than Emrys. People felt comfortable around Merlin. Sometimes they didn’t even notice him and that made him a much more effective protector. Emrys would be a more effective protector too if he remained mysterious, if it seemed like he was everywhere and nowhere at once. “Maybe I could be Emrys’s apprentice like I was Gaius’s.”

“That makes sense.” Arthur said slowly as though he were still reviewing the idea for flaws. “I’ll need an oath of allegiance from Emrys- probably more than one. There need to be as many witnesses as possible.”

“Now, how many oaths are we talking here?” Merlin did not know what made him feel compelled to joke just then except that he felt a sudden stab of vulnerability and a joke might protect him. “Emrys is an eighty year old man. I’m not sure how much up and down he’ll be able to handle.”

“Then I suggest you think about that the next time you choose a disguise.” Arthur said without sympathy. Merlin smiled.

“So what about me then- I mean me, Merlin?”

“So what about you? As Emrys’s apprentice you can do whatever you like, live anyway you like”

“Shouldn’t I . . . Do you want me to swear, Arthur?” Merlin felt a little ill. Merlin was already doing what he liked and living the way he wanted to live but Arthur talked like he expected Merlin to change. 

Merlin remembered the last time he had offered Arthur an oath. Arthur hadn’t wanted it then. Arthur had nearly walked out of the room at the suggestion. That was when Arthur had still been angry and before Merlin understood the extent of that anger. But, it was different now.

“Is that important, Merlin?” Arthur sounded tired and Merlin felt sicker.

“Yes.”

“I told you last time I didn’t know what we were. That was only half of it. I didn’t know who I was. I’m still not sure I know. Sometimes I’m so certain but then it crumbles in my hands.” Arthur looked down at his palms as though he was literally holding the fragments of his identity. Arthur felt just on the cusp of understanding what it meant to be King, why it should be him but as soon as he thought he had a secure hold on it, it slipped away.

“You know who you are, Arthur. It’s me. I’m the problem.” Merlin’s shoulders slumped. This was what he was afraid of. “I oughtn’t to be trusted. I don’t even know what I’ll do.”

“Are you worried about that again?” Arthur asked not unkindly.

‘Again’? ‘Still’ was more like it but Merlin just nodded. Merlin’s magic was dangerous and however much Arthur might care for him, the King knew better than to accept an oath from someone who lied so readily whenever it served his purpose. 

“Do you recall what I told you last time we talked about this?”

Merlin cast his mind back. Arthur had tried to comfort him. He remembered that. “You said I wasn’t going to end up like Morgana.” Merlin said sullenly.

“I said there was a real and satisfying reason why you wouldn’t end up like Morgana. I just wasn’t able to put it into words then.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur quizzically. Yes, now that he thought back Arthur had said something like that.

“You didn’t believe me!” Arthur accused indignantly as he saw Merlin’s expression. “What did you think? I was just talking to shut you up?” There was genuine hurt accompanying Arthur’s indignation.

“No. No, I just thought- I just thought you were trying to make me feel better.” Merlin said hurriedly. “I thought you were saying you had faith in me.”

“I do have faith in you, Merlin. I also happen to have meant what I said.” From Arthur’s tone Merlin could tell he was still miffed.

“Sorry,” Merlin murmured.

“’S all right.” 

“So, there’s a reason why I can be trusted?” Merlin finally asked. He was pulled in two directions. On the one hand, he desperately wanted reassurance and on the other he was afraid that whatever Arthur had in mind wasn’t going to be truly convincing.

“Well, the first thing is that there is not one reason. There are a lot of reasons- too many to list but you’ll get the idea.” Arthur began and his tone held the smugness that came whenever he knew something he considered obvious and Merlin didn’t. “I trust you, Merlin, because you have friends and they protect you even when you don’t realize it. I trust you because you know that if you ever went too far you would make your mother cry and you would break Gwen’s heart. I trust you because there are sorcerers out there in the world like Aydan and Falcon- Fallon and they need you to be a good example- not as Emrys but as Merlin. I trust you because you owe it to Gaius to be a better man than he was able to be.”

“I trust you because- like it or not- your power is such that if you misuse your magic then you put everyone with magic in danger. Magic itself is going to be judged in large part by what you do and what you don’t do. I trust you because destruction and violence are always easier than creation and preservation and you are the most powerful sorcerer in the world. It’s beneath you to do what’s easier.”

“I trust you because I am your King. Whatever evil you do is my responsibility and no matter what kind of sacrifice you’re willing to make of yourself, you are not going to put something truly terrible on my conscience. I trust you because the misuse of magic will break the laws of Camelot. And that’s going to mean something to you some day. And I trust you because if you ever start to get lost then I will come and find you and bring you home.”

“There may come a point, Merlin, when some of these reasons temporarily lose their hold on you but not all of them, not all at once.” Arthur finished and then turned on Merlin with an ‘I told you so’ look.

Merlin couldn’t say anything. Against his expectation, Arthur was . . . . well, he was right. The part about being too good to do the easy thing was more about Arthur’s psychology than Merlin’s, true. And Arthur hadn’t mentioned that Merlin couldn’t bear to have people fear or hate him. He could tolerate the idea that people were afraid of Emrys but Merlin, the truest part of himself- no, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But still Arthur was right. Merlin was not adrift, prey to the mercurial whims of circumstance. He had purpose and a destiny but he also had a choice. He had always had a choice and now he had people who would help him understand his choices. How strange not to have seen it that way before.

“Feel better?” Arthur asked after a while. He sounded almost tentative, as though Merlin’s silence had somewhat shaken his conviction.

“Yes.” Merlin swallowed. “I- Yes.”

“Well, you needn’t sound so surprised about it.” Arthur’s words were peevish but he was clearly pleased.

“So, you meant it then?” Merlin ventured returning to an earlier point in the conversation though his head was still full. “You really don’t know who you are?”

“I’m not the man I thought I was, Merlin. I haven’t done the things I thought I had and I have done things I never would have done knowingly.” Arthur looked out at the late afternoon sun and squinted against its brightness. He had never considered himself a hero but he had liked to think of himself as the sort of man whose actions made a difference. It grieved him to have been superfluous in times of his country’s need. It grieved him more that he hadn’t even realized it.

“So it is my fault.” Of course it was. Merlin had just guessed wrong about how it was his fault. 

“No.” Arthur shook his head emphatically. “You don’t get to take responsibility for my mistakes. I should have figured it out and I didn’t- that’s got to be my fault. We need to be able to talk about those years without recrimination. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m holding anything that happened then over your head. I’m not angry with you and I’m not trying to punish you. All right?” 

Merlin nodded because that’s what Arthur wanted but he still felt it was his fault. “You’ve never been anything but brave, Arthur. You acted in the best way you could with the information you had. You can’t doubt yourself. From the very beginning you’ve always worked hard to be what your people needed and you were, you are.” 

Arthur flung up his hands. “It’s just that I’m still trying to figure it out. Even when I know exactly who I am and what that means and what I intend to do then there is still the question of who we are together.”

“But, that’s the easiest part.” Merlin insisted. “Whatever I managed to do that was any good at all, I did for you- because of you. I know I’m always talking about how much you need me- and you do need me, Arthur, but that’s all right because you have me. All of my magic- all this power- is meant for you. I don’t think I even really exist without you.” 

Arthur said nothing and Merlin felt his spirit deflate even further. “All right. I understand why you don’t want me to swear fealty. I think you’re wrong because I think it would do us both good but I understand.”

“I hope you change your mind but whether you do or not, it’s not going to change anything because I’m not going anywhere. Any mad sorcerer that wants to have a go at you or Camelot is going to have to go through me first. No matter what magical creature with poison claws or breathing fire turns up I’ll be there to stop it. Ancient curses or vengeful spirits aren’t going to get anywhere near you if I have anything to say about it. I will meet whatever danger threatens you and I will defeat it at whatever cost.” Merlin looked toward Arthur to see that King’s face was solemn- even resigned.

“But you know that already, don’t you?” Merlin asked.

The question surprised Arthur but he dipped his head to acknowledge that he did already know that. Arthur understood duty even when it was mostly self-imposed. He also understood destiny- at least he understood it in the metaphorical sense.

“All right,” Merlin’s voice was matter-of-fact. He was just describing the world as it was. “So, this is what you don’t already know- though heaven knows you should. Honestly, Arthur sometimes I could swear-” Merlin cut himself off with effort and returned to his main point. “What you don’t know is that I’m still going to be there when there aren’t any attacking sorcerers or magic creatures or doomsday talismans.”

“I’m going to be there to make sure you don’t oversleep when you have an early morning meeting and I’m going to be there to tell you about what’s happening in the kitchens- who’s getting married or who’s son is looking for an apprenticeship- even though you say don’t care about gossip. I’m going to be there to take proper care of your armor because I have spent too much time keeping it in good order to trust anyone else with it.”

“I’m going to be there when you want to talk with someone about nothing in particular. And I’ll still be there when you don’t want to talk but you need to anyway. I’m going to make sure you mind your injuries whenever you’re hurt and I’ll conspire with Gwen if you’re stubborn about it. Whenever I think you’re making a mistake I’m going to tell you what I think. And whenever you make a mistake I’ll help you fix it. No matter what you do, Arthur, I’m always on your side.”

“I’ll always try to help you even if there’s nothing I can do but be there.” Merlin’s voice never lost its matter-of-fact tone and when he had finished he nodded to himself as though to say that after reviewing his previous statements he was satisfied.

“Why, Merlin?” Arthur was staring hard into the setting sun so that it was all right that his eyes watered. “Why would you do that?”

Merlin considered. There were a dozen different answers he could give- each one carrying its own portion of truth- but Merlin guessed that Arthur wanted something specific. The only difficulty was figuring out what it was. Merlin could say that it was because Arthur needed him. For all the King’s admittedly admirable and even unique qualities there were still a number of things he really oughtn’t to be left to manage on his own. But Merlin had been telling Arthur how much he needed him for years. Arthur knew it now and it was only Merlin’s own insecurities that kept him coming back to that point.

So, Merlin could say that it was because he needed Arthur. That was true, too. It was also something Arthur didn’t get to hear from Merlin often- or at least not explicitly. Merlin had told him often enough that his magic was meant for him, that he was Merlin’s purpose and his destiny. But that wasn’t really the same. Maybe Arthur needed to hear it in so many words.

Yet, some instinct held Merlin back. There was a better answer somewhere. He could say ‘because I love you’. Merlin wanted to say that- it was just that Arthur already knew that Merlin loved him. Finally, just before the silence stretched into awkwardness, Merlin said. “Because I want to. Because I feel like I’m where I belong and I’m doing what makes me happy.”

Arthur turned to Merlin. Though Arthur was smiling in a manner that Merlin associated with anticipated mischief, Merlin could still see where tears had marked a silver path down Arthur’s face. 

“All right.” Arthur said getting to his feet. Merlin watched in some consternation as Arthur took several decisive steps away from him and then turned back. He wasn’t smiling any more. He looked as serious as Merlin had ever seen him.

“Merlin.” Arthur called and Merlin felt a strange flutter in his belly even before it dawned on him what was happening. Merlin- because he was Merlin- got to his feet in ungainly fashion. Arthur watched but his expression did not alter. Merlin stepped carefully forward. He was taller than Arthur by a little bit but it suddenly didn’t feel that way. The two stood eye-to-eye for several seconds then Merlin sank to his knees, placed his hands palms together and lifted them to Arthur who closed his own hands over Merlin’s. 

Merlin had seen this hundreds of times- maybe thousands. He found it superfluous and a bit boring. Someone was either trustworthy, in which case an oath was unnecessary, or they weren’t in which case no words- no matter how solemnly pronounced- would make a difference. 

Despite this general cynicism, after his confession of magic and Arthur’s grant of a pardon it had seemed like exactly the right thing to do. He had wanted Arthur to trust him. He had wanted to take away the sting of his previous deception and he wanted to make an affirmation of his allegiance in a way he knew Arthur took seriously. 

When Arthur balked Merlin was so caught up in the relief of confession that he hardly noticed. Later, though, he started to think more about it. He started to realize that Arthur’s refusal had been deliberate. It had been proof- if Merlin had had the sense to see it at the time- that though Merlin had been forgiven as a matter of law Arthur would not share something he considered a personal bond.

Weeks after the initial revelation, Arthur refused again to take Merlin’s oath. Merlin had understood better then the nature of the rejection. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t think that Merlin was willing to give his allegiance. It was that Arthur didn’t think Merlin understood what it meant. That had hurt. But on top of that hurt lay Arthur’s own self-doubts. Arthur had said that then and even now he didn’t know he was. Merlin had trouble understanding that because Arthur was Arthur but it was clearly something the King had been struggling with.

Now, finally, trust had been reestablished and self-doubt pushed to the side. They both knew themselves and they knew what they were together. The words of the oath came to Merlin’s lips almost of themselves. He swore faith and service to Arthur and to Camelot. There was no magic- at least no magic of Merlin’s sort- in the words but as he spoke them he felt their meaning and his commitment to their meaning wind around his heart. 

When they had each spoken their portion of the oath, Arthur released Merlin’s hands and helped him to his feet. The two embraced. Arthur’s smile was so ebullient that he was almost laughing. Though he had let Merlin go, he reached out to touch him again. He squeezed his shoulder and gave it a happy little shake. Then- unable to help himself- Arthur reached for Merlin one more time, his hand winding around to the back of Merlin’s neck so he could pull the sorcerer in close for another hug. Merlin hugged back grinning. Finally, Arthur gave Merlin’s hair one last tousle before he stepped away. 

Merlin looked around taking in the rest of the camp. Edith and Edwin looked on in bafflement unsure how to interpret what they had just seen. At some point- and Merlin could not have said exactly when- the knights had drawn closer. A few of them were smiling but no one seemed too surprised.

Leon was the first to return to his previous activity, calling out that dinner was nearly done. This news was greeted with general approval and just like that everything returned to normal. Arthur and Merlin found themselves sitting side-by-side once more as they waited for the food to finish cooking.

“You know if you want anything, now is the time to ask. Traditionally, you’re entitled to expect a gift.” Arthur remarked casually rousing Merlin from his aimless thoughts.

“An extra shilling a week and a new pair of wool socks around midwinter?” Merlin suggested after due consideration.

Arthur gently threw the back of his hand against Merlin’s stomach. “Ha. Well, I’ll check with the treasury but I suppose that could be managed. You might even go so far as to broaden the scope of your request.” Arthur paused and then said very seriously. “I know there’s nothing I could give you that could be anything close to what you’re worth but you should ask for something.”

“Like half your kingdom and your daughter’s hand in marriage?” Merlin asked innocently and tightened his stomach muscles in anticipation. Arthur hit him in the arm.

“Well, the answer in that particular is ‘no’ on the grounds that, in the first instance, the goal is to bring the kingdoms together not divide them and, in the second instance, I don’t have a daughter. You have, however, managed to grasp the spirit.” Arthur finished very quietly. “It would make me happy to give you something you wanted.”

Merlin thought. He considered his mother who was living comfortably by her own efforts and what he was able to send her. He remembered his new tower rooms that were really very lovely but they were so big that he liked to have the owl for company. He thought about the girls in the kitchen who could generally be relied upon to fetch him a bit of something whenever he turned up looking forlorn. He thought about the knights who were his friends and who treated him like he belonged. He thought about the roaring fires in the great hall and how there was often music whenever there was a feast. He thought about waking up each day knowing he had everything to look forward to. Merlin thought about all that he had already been given. “No, I’ve thought about it and I’m really going to have to hold firm on the socks.”

End


End file.
